


Nice Words are for Lonely Angels

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, F/M, M/M, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When all else fails, talk to older strangers in dimly lit coffee shops. Coffee shop AU in which Castiel is a starving writer and Dean is in line to take over his mother's publishing company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Though Atlas Shrugged, the Blond Woman Lent a Hand

Castiel Novak had never been one for societal interactions and tonight is no exception to that rule. As per usual on Thursday, Castiel is working the closing shift at a little coffee shop in southern San Francisco. It’s a slow night with only about ten customers waiting for their provisions and he decides he might as well close up early. The businessman impatiently tapping his foot waiting for his skim-latte-with-no-whip-and-hold-the-chocolate-sauce has forced Castiel’s usual bubble of contentment to burst with grizzly irritation.

“Anytime in the near future would be fine,” the man grumbles, sneering down his crooked nose.

“Yes, it will indeed be ready sometime in the relative future.” Castiel snarks back not at all basking in the angry guffaw the man elicits. A woman waiting at the end of the line chuckles and grins at Castiel, her wide blue eyes crinkling with amusement. Castiel’s lip stretch in a minute smile and he finishes Captain Douchebag’s damn latte, but not without switching the skim for whole milk.

“Here you are, kind sir. I hope you have a beautifully lovely night.” Castiel beams, enjoying the flash of agitation that crosses the man’s face. He continues taking orders and making specialized coffees until he reaches the last customer, the chuckling woman. Castiel smiles and asks her what she’d like.

“Well, I would like two peppermint hot chocolates and your company, if it’s not too bold of me.” The woman hands him a twenty and reaches for his hand.

“I’m Mary by the way. Mary Campbell.” Castiel takes her hand with a confused, albeit genuine grin.

“I’m Castiel. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Campbell.” Mary grins and says to call her Mary; Mrs. Campbell is her mother. Castiel puts the twenty in the register and gives Mary her change. He excuses himself to make their drinks as Mary situates herself on a modest loveseat near the windows.

Castiel doesn’t understand why this woman wants his company; usually people are too put off by his directness to withstand more than the base necessity of an interaction. He attributes it to a defect in social aptitude, that this woman is drawn to him. That is the only rational explanation for her interest that he can establish. He looks down at the near ready mugs of hot chocolate and reaches for the peppermint shavings lying in a canister next to the teakettle. As he sprinkles the peppermint onto the hot chocolate, Castiel realizes the woman could be interested in him. It wouldn’t be a first time someone older flirted with less honest intentions. Grinning, he pushes the mugs aside and makes to take off his uniform. He then brings the mugs to where Mary is quietly indulging herself in what looks to be a first edition copy of Atlas Shrugged.

Castiel gingerly sets down the hot chocolate and utters, “I’ve always liked John Galt. I find the ideals he stands for, for rebellion itself in a way to be fantastically romantic.” Mary’s head snaps up with a gasp and a breathy giggle. Castiel notes the way her eyes rake over his casual attire, his tousled hair.

“Oh yes, I really liked his story. He was an absolute genius,” Mary shifts so Castiel can take a seat, “I didn’t know people still read stories aside from that vampire crap.”

Castiel laughs at that, he’s been working on readinga story of a lesbian vampire called Carmilla and feels a twinge of revolt stirring deep within him at her assumption of the vampire romance genre. Though he’ll never admit it to anyone else, Castiel also holds a fondness for the Twilight books.

“Anyways Cas, you’re probably wondering why some old woman is talking to you when you could be at home,” Mary smirks, the corner of her mouth quirking up in surreptitious amusement.

“Erm... yes actually,” Castiel stutters, “Oh no! I don’t mean you’re old or anything. You’re very beautiful and... Uh,” Castiel is awkward. He knows he’s awkward but Mary simply snorts and shakes her head in haughty derision.

“Sweetie, don’t be so nervous. I’m not coming on to you, you remind me of my son.” Oh, so he’s a surrogate child only useful in moments of loneliness such as this. And Cas? So they have pet names for each other now; Castiel hasn’t been so confused in a while.

“If you don’t mind my asking, but what exactly is it that you want?” Castiel asks suspiciously. The woman scrutinizes him with a scientist's curiosity.

After a moment, her face transforms into a radiant grin and she beams, “I only want conversation with an interesting person. I can identify a dropout when I see one.”

Castiel retreats internally. How could this woman possibly know that? Before he can ask, Mary holds a finger to his lips and says that her son dropped out after receiving a promising internship with a biomechanical engineering company. She never understood his decision; however, she full heartedly accepted it. Castiel mentions that he was in graduate work for classical literature and writing but he quit after the realization that he simply didn’t give a shit anymore. Mary laughs at that and inquires whether he’s written anything of his own. In truth, Castiel has about six full novels ready for publication but because of the medial focus on teenage romances and angst, he refrains from telling Mary and instead lies that he gave up his dream to be an author long ago.

 The two discuss literature and it’s political influences for practically four hours until Mary suddenly stands and stretches. “It’s nearly one in the morning. I need to sleep,” Mary yawns and blinks herself aware. “I’d love to chat tomorrow, if you’re working.” She looks up at him sheepishly through her heavy lidded lashes.

“Yeah, of course Mary. I’d love to buy you a coffee,” Castiel replies, a slow grin spreading his lips. He excuses himself to grab his things and returns to escort Mary out of the shop. As Castiel locks the door, he states, “I actually lied a bit about my books. If you’d like I can bring you one of my manuscripts.” Castiel blushes; outside of potential publishers, Mary will be the first to read his work.

He’s busy examining the tops of his Chucks when Mary murmurs, “I’d love to read your manuscripts, kiddo.” Castiel looks up to find the hint of a smile dancing on Mary’s mouth. In that moment she eerily reminds him of his late mother. He shuffles awkwardly, abruptly feeling nostalgic and nauseated. He mumbles a quick goodbye and begins walking toward his rust bucket Yugo rotting away in the parking lot.

* * *

* * *

When Castiel gets home, he can’t stop thinking about the Campbell woman. She talked about her husband- er ex-husband- John sparingly, mentioning only the drinking and the messy divorce. From what Castiel could gather from her body language, it occurs to him that she was being abused, likely emotionally and physically. She hunkered into herself and displayed tiny flinches whenever Castiel gestured too near to her body. He forces himself to stop thinking about her; he just doesn’t do well with other people. Castiel peels off his jeans and sweater and flops onto his couch. He reaches for the television remote and turns on the monitor. The screen flares to life, displaying a woman talking about how great a particular brand of toothpaste is. Castiel sighs and flips through the channels until he sees the beginnings of a rerun of Star Trek. His thumb pauses on the remote, an image of an attractive Englishman passes behind his lids. Balthazar used to love Star Trek. Balthazar Grey, Castiel’s ex-boyfriend and best friend, had ended their relationship after watching Wrath of Khan for the eleventh time.

Castiel doesn’t want to think about Balthazar. What looked to be a potential life long relationship ended with a fizzle and went out with a bang- the proverbial ‘bang’ ended up being more literal on Balthazar’s part. Balth moved out of their flat without a word, leaving only a note reading ‘Sorry Cassie, I’ll always love you’ before running off to New York with Raphael McVey, captain of the Stanford football team. 

Castiel turns off the television, not because he doesn’t want to watch but because he just doesn’t like being nostalgic. He walks to his bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet. He takes four aspirin dry and makes for his room. Climbing into his bed, Castiel can’t stop himself from thinking of Mary, of the sons she spoke so fondly of, of her abusive dick of an ex-husband. As much as he hopes to never see her again, he truly can’t help the desire to see her. After nearly thirty years of living a lukewarm life, he’s met a person who gets him. He can talk to someone. Even Balthazar’s company wasn’t enough to lift the weight of Castiel’s boredom with life, he could only provide a temporary relief. But since he’s talked to Mary, he wants to meet Sam and Dean; he wants to see with his own eyes just how intelligent and special they are. Most of all, Castiel wants, no, craves for a final cure. He wants to see that his life and life in general is not pointless. With that though in his mind, Castiel turns into the musty pillow and falls asleep.

 

The next morning, Castiel wakes with a painful kink in his back. He woke up on the floor again, another fitful night. Sighing, Castiel stands and stretches until the discs in his back realign. With a groan he makes his way to the tiny, dusty bathroom and turns the shower on so steam immediately fills up the room. He strips himself of his boxers and socks and fastidiously steps into the burning shower. It scalds his skin into a lobster like shade as he quickly scrubs and shaves. After about ten minutes, Castiel turns off the now cold water and pulls the curtain wide. What he sees surprises him.

“Hello, Gabriel,” he grumbles to his elder brother who is doing nothing to hide his amusement at Castiel’s irritated expression.

“Hey little bro,” he answers, a mischievous grin creeping along the corners of his lips. “Happy Birthday, little man.”

Gabriel pushes an ostentatiously decorated bag towards Castiel, only stopping when he wraps a damp hand around the handle. Pulling it towards himself, Castiel realizes he’s shivering and still naked so he makes for the towel that... is no longer where he left it.

“Gabe, where’s my damn towel?” Castiel mutters, hints of a frown playing on his brow.

“Open the bag and you’ll get it back Cas,” Gabriel snarks back.

Castiel sighs and opens his gift. Inside, Castiel finds a modest yellow box. He grips the box and throws the bag back towards Gabe, not checking to see if he hit the target. Running his fingertips along the velvety coating, Castiel slowly opens the case. A bright, white light flashes up at him and he hears the distinct click of a camera. He looks down to see a new phone, touch screen and all, with a tiny message stating ‘Cas, you’ve never had a fucking phone in your pathetic life. Have this one on me. Happy 29th! Love, Gabriel.' Castiel looks up to see Gabriel smirking at him with mischievous joy. He tosses Castiel his towel, nearly hitting him in the face with it. Castiel wraps it around his waist and makes to shake Gabe’s hand. Gabriel, never one to pass up an opportunity, pulls Castiel into a suffocating bear hug. Castiel gives up his struggles to bat him away as soon as Gabe’s grip constricts. Gabe pats Castiel’s ass then releases his death grip.

“Have fun with that Cas. I didn’t buy that for work use; live a little and sext someone hot for me.” And with that eloquent statement, Gabe gives a mock salute and escorts himself out of Castiel’s studio. Castiel watches his back as he closes the door behind his departure, then looks at the expensive technology resting in his palm. Curiosity getting the best of him, Castiel clicks the button at the top and the screen flares to life, obedient and responsive to Castiel’s every command. He touches the phone-shaped button and finds that Gabriel has already programmed in several contacts: Gabe, their brother Michael, and their stepmother and father. Gabriel knows the falling out Castiel had with his father when he dropped out of university, and he probably added his number in just to humor him. Castiel is surprised he can continue scrolling, to find the phone number of someone called Sam. This must be what Gabe meant when he mentioned ‘sexting’. Groaning, Castiel sets the phone down on the ledge of the sink and brushes his teeth. He spits then looks into the mirror; his eyes and cheeks are sunken but that can be attributed to poor nutrition. His skin has begun looking sallow and yellow. He needs more meat.

Castiel drops his towel and trots to his laptop to check on his funds. Huh, he’s got a good thousand to last him the next week. He didn’t need to be as careful with his spending as he’d thought. Castiel closes the netbook and walks to his closet to get dressed for work. He decides on his ugly blue-grey argyle sweater and a pair of purple boot cut jeans. After he’s dressed and he looks somewhat presentable, Castiel grabs his keys off where he left them in the couch cushions the previous night and exits the studio.

* * *

* * *

Castiel arrives earlier than usual at the coffee shop. So, he decides to make himself an espresso and relax for twenty minutes before his shift starts. Just as he’s sitting down in the break room, he sees someone’s feet about two feet away from him and hears a suggestive cough.

“Uh, hey man, I just started here this morning but, uh, my name’s Sam Winchester. Pleased to meet you.” Castiel starts at the name. Winchester? Sam Winchester? Castiel slowly looks up the long body of the young man. When his eyes finally (finally) reach his face, the guy is actually kind of handsome. His warm hazel eyes, nervous smile, and Jesus, that mop of hair ending just before his shoulders all contribute to the resemblance of a well fed college kid. Not Castiel’s type though, too boyish and happy-go-lucky.

“Erm, yeah, hello I’m Castiel,” he mumbles, noticing the spark of recognition dance across Winchester the younger(?)’s features, “I think I’ll be the one training you for the rest of today so in...” he looks down at his watch, “eighteen minutes we’ll start.” He reaches to shake the kid’s hand but ends up awkwardly holding it for just a second too long.

“Well, um, I guess I’ll go get a cookie or somethin’.” Sam ducks his enormous mop head and shuffles away at a speedy clip. Oh, he’s blushing. What a convenient time for Castiel’s social ineptitude to kick in. Fucking fantastic. Castiel’s already in a fowl mood by the time he’s downed his coffee and his tying his apron around his waist.

Castiel makes a spectacular entrance to the serving counter by tripping over his unlaced Martens and into the arms of his boss Naomi. She makes a fuss of making sure he’s not drunk or high (again) before letting him go about his business. Castiel approaches Sam from behind and mumbles out a question of whether he’s ready to begin. Sam jumps but quickly regains his composure and nods in affirmation. Castiel leads him to the various machines that mix, heat, and stir the drinks and specialized concoctions customers sometimes order.

“I’m sure Naomi went over how these work but let’s review, shall we? Okay this here,” Castiel gestures to an attachment on the third machine from the right, “is for making foam. The more foam you want, the more milk you put in.”

Castiel scoots to the right one step. “Okay, now this is just the water heater. If you’re ever making tea this is what you need to use.” Castiel demonstrates which buttons to push, then guides Sam as he tries to adjust to the new controls.

Castiel continues to show Sam how the machines work when he checks the clock and sees that it is almost noon. He checks the line and notices how the lunch rush is starting to come in.

Castiel turns and looks up at Sam. “If you’d like you can take your break now. The lunch rush is starting and I doubt you’d want to do that on your first day.” He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, let alone a good kid like Sam.

“No!” Sam chirps immediately, then blushes fire engine red. “What I mean is, my mom and brother are stopping in for lunch. They wanted to visit me... and mom wants to see you again.” He smiles when he says this, like he knows something Castiel doesn’t. But he lets it slide and instead shrugs with a terse, “It’s your sanity, I guess.”

Castiel goes in the break room for a quick five minutes before he goes and faces the crowd. He pulls out a cigarette, well aware of the new laws and regulations against smoking in buildings, and lights it anyway. Sam Winchester, brother of Dean, son of Mary and John. Mary had said he attends Stanford and is planning for a degree in law. Sam had said Mary was coming with Dean, presumably to visit him. Assuming the presumptuousness of their visit, he can only assume that he’s either being set up or introduced as a potential stepfather. Castiel exhales a beautiful swirling pattern of smoke then stubs out the cigarette on the cement floor nearest the back door. He moves to splash his face with water when someone knocks on the wall.

“Hey Castiel,” Mary murmurs. He looks back and sees she’s donning a lovely rose-colored floor length dress. “Naomi let me back here to see you.”

“Hello Mary, it’s nice to see you again,” Castiel says with genuine happiness. He grins and gestures to her ensemble, “You look absolutely lovely.”

Mary snickers and fiddles with her sleeve. “Yeah, my son and I were out on a company meeting actually. I needed to look good for a Nobel award winning author.” She continues fussing with her dress, her hands now wringing out and unfolding her collar in an endless loop. “Actually, that’s part of the reason I came to see you, Cas.”

That gets Castiel’s interest. For a woman who holds company with award winning authors, she does take peculiar interest in people. Unless, she’s that Campbell. Of course, why didn’t this occur to him before? Campbell Publishing Incorporated, known for their endorsement of famous authors galore including J.K Rowling, John Green, and, Castiel’s personal favorite author, Kurt Vonnegut. This woman, this wonderfully powerful woman came into this hipster college town coffee shop just to visit Castiel (well and her son).

“Erm, okay sure. I’ll ask Naomi if I can take my break early.” Castiel is stuttering, suddenly star struck to have conversed with this literary giant. He looks at his shoes and cannot stop rubbing his neck. God, he thinks, this is ridiculous.

Mary chuckles from somewhere in her belly. “Not necessary, Cas. I talked to Naomi and you’ll be excused early at half one today. I want you to show me something.” She looks at him meaningfully, and Castiel gets it. This woman did ask for his manuscripts yesterday. Maybe she really intends to live up to her promise.

“Okay sure, but I’ve got to work for the next fifteen minutes so if you don’t mind, I have to help your son,” Castiel grins as he speaks, hearing how ridiculously coincidental it all is. He opens the door for Mary and follows her to the noisy front room of the shop. She grabs his hand in parting and gives it a quick squeeze, grinning like only a mother can. Castiel smiles back, but it’s a little forced and excuses himself to the unoccupied register. He runs through the orders easily, going at a faster pace than usual in anticipation to what follows. It’s like a clock is ticking in his head counting down the seconds to when he’ll show Mary his books. He is literally buzzing with excitement by 12:25 when he hears someone clear their throat and tap their fingertips against the counter. Castiel frowns, he’s not going to let anyone ruin the high he’s riding. He glares up from under his dark lashes only to do a double take.

The man he’s staring at, no, man isn’t an appropriate term, the apostle he’s ogling has warm emerald eyes, scrunched in impatience. His flawless skin is tanned with a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and eyelids. His sandy hair lightens at the ends into a pretty beachy blonde, though it does look a tad artificial. Putting it simply, the man was one handsome fucker. Castiel realizes he’s staring with his jaw agape. He snaps it shut and obnoxiously clears his throat.

“Uh, hi welcome to Naomi’s! Er... what can I gi- make you?” Oh God, that is definitely a blush creeping up his neck. Where the hell is this shyness coming from? He looks at the guy’s tie knot as a distraction.

“Man, are you alright? You’re looking a little red,” The man fucking smirks at him. Castiel forces his face back to its usual stormy indifference and replies.

“Why of course, sir! I most certainly did not mean to inconvenience you with my inappropriate attitude,” Castiel arranges his face into a flirtatious grin. He knew the asshole type when he saw it. “What is it you’d like? Anything your little heart desires and I’ll give it to you.” Castiel feels ridiculous, but that did the trick. The man’s freckles are made all the more obvious with a light pink radiating underneath their dancing constellations. Castiel can’t help the sneer that cracks his poker face.

“I’ll... just have the house black please,” he’s no longer looking in Castiel’s eyes as he passes him a twenty, “Twenty ounce. Keep the change.”

“It’ll be right up!” Castiel beams cheerfully. He turns to Sam, “Sammy dear, we’ll need one house blend, twenty ounce!”

Sam looks up from the macchiato he’s making and stares incredulously at Castiel, confusion brushing all of his features. “Uh, okay.” He looks at something behind Castiel, someone to be more precise.

“Sammy?” Ken doll asks, raising his eyebrows surprisingly in recognition. The expression that crosses his face is bizarrely akin to Gabriel’s when he’s doing something Castiel knows he won’t like.

“Dean?” Sam coughs. He glances back at Castiel, the beginnings of his pink flush deepening into an alarming shade of ruby. Well fuck, Castiel may have screwed up his chances at a publishing before he even had his work evaluated. Dean peeks over at Castiel and his eyes grow with sudden realization.

“Uh, Castiel?” his voice is suddenly hoarse, his eyes darting to and fro landing everywhere but Castiel.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel mutters then, because social convention dictates he does so, he holds his hand out for Dean. When Dean lays his palm along Castiel’s, Castiel brings his other hand and grasps Dean. Gabriel said this was a way to show respect.

It appears to have the opposite effect, however, because Dean’s cheeks go from light pink to beet red in a matter of seconds and he tugs his hand free of Castiels’. A pregnant silence settles onto the three men and it isn’t broken until a teenager yells something rude at them about ‘not moving their fat asses’. Castiel forces Sam to take the register and retreats to making the drinks for people. It clears his mind, until he realizes that he has about a minute left in his shift. He lets this knowledge fester like an open wound; Castiel grows sluggish and slow, preparing the last three orders with careful precision. When Naomi yells at him to get off the floor, he finally finishes the drinks and shuffles back to the break room where all of his belongings are currently residing. He takes nearly ten minutes removing his apron and fixing his hair until Naomi literally shoves him out from behind the counter and towards Campbell and (very attractive) son.

Castiel stumbles towards where Mary is sitting, waiting for Castiel and her son to meet up with her. She’s reading the comics section of a week old newspaper and smiling softly to herself. Castiel feels out of place and tries to think of a CEO worthy greeting that’ll make him seem more intelligent.

“Um...hi,” is the eloquent choice he settles on. He grimaces at himself until Mary chortles and drags out the chair next to her.

“Have a seat, kiddo,” her voice is warm. Castiel looks up at her eyes and sees the warmth there, too. Instantly, he calms. She takes this as a confirmation that she can continue. “So I was thinking, if it’s alright with you, that we could stop at your place and pick up those books you’ve written.”

Castiel nods and says that it’ll be fine, he just has to make sure to get his car home. Mary is about to reply when Mr. Long Tan and Handsome himself walks up awkwardly juggling the three cups of coffee in his hands. Well, two coffees and Castiel’s favorite tea, but he chooses to avoid mentioning this. Dean sets down the tray and goes about passing drinks around the table, only hesitating when he passes the herbal tea to Castiel. Castiel decides that this is too awkward for him to deal with so he offers Mary another option.

“How about I run back to my apartment real quick and grab the manuscripts you wanted. It would be less of a hassle that way.” He flinches internally, knowing well that it sounds like a rejection. But Mary has no such qualms and simply says, “No way, honey, we’re going to read them together.”

At that, Dean’s head snaps up from where he was picking at his fingernails. Understanding is evident in his eyes and he actually does a double take.

“Mom, this is not the author you were setting me up with,” Dean sputters, he actually spits up his coffee in pure shock. His expression is one of pure disbelief as he evaluates his mother’s growing sly expression. “You want to publish this guy. You can’t just do that!”

Mary simply shrugs and sips at her latte. “And why pre tell can’t I, Dean Winchester? Because it’s a conflict of interests? Do you really think Castiel would do that, because I don’t. Look at his cutie pie face, you can’t tell me he’s not your type honey, I’ve seen some of your exes.” At that Dean blanks and a moment later that lovely blush from earlier returns with a vengeance.

“Mom, what the fuck!” Dean looks like he’s about to pounce out of his chair. Castiel decides this would be a good time to interrupt.

“Okay, Mary with all due respect, you should have told us both if you were planning on arranging something. I thought this was just about you inquiring into my work to see if you’d like to publish.” Mary looks like she’s about to say something, but she thinks better of it and closes her slightly opened mouth. Castiel turns to Dean.

“Dean, I’m sorry I bitched at you while I was working. That was unnecessary,” he doesn’t say uncalled for because that was as much his fault as it was Dean’s. He continues, “but you need to calm down. Neither of us agreed to go through with anything, remember that?” Castiel sees him visibly calm down. He can’t stop the small snort that escapes his mouth. The pretty ones are always idiots.

Castiel turns back to Mary. “If you’d like, we could read the manuscripts in my studio. I’m only about two blocks from here so it’d be smarter to head back there and mull over the pesky bits. We can take my car, if you don’t mind the noise or the lack of brakes, or we can take your car. It’s up to you.”

Mary eyes Castiel like he’s a prize beagle. Her eyes are accusatory yet reassuring at the same time. It is truly unnerving. Finally, Dean decides to find his voice and mumbles, “We can take my car. Let’s get outta here.” And with that, they leave the coffee shop.


	2. A Lesson in Coffee and Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Mary, and Castiel all head back to Castiel's apartment to discuss the nature of the publication of his books. Mary takes his manuscripts; Dean and Castiel get coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this chapter does have some sex (it's not too long though and just at the end). Also, chapters 3 and 4 should be up by Sunday evening.

The entire ride back the Castiel’s apartment is spent in utter awe at Dean Winchester’s automobile, if it’s even appropriate to call her that. She’s a ‘67 Impala in jet black that’s taken better care of than Castiel himself. Her interior proves that she’s genuine inside and out; the leather of the seats gleaming in mid-noon sunlight. Castiel can’t stop his fingers from rubbing circles on the seats. When he lets out a sigh, Dean glances at him in the rearview mirror.       

“Is everything fine, man?” Dean inquires, his body leaning towards Castiel as much as it can safely. Castiel relaxed further into the seat, enjoying every minute of the luxurious drive to his crappy apartment.      

“It is more than satisfactory.” He replies, snuggling into the cushions. He smoothes down his jeans, trying to calm himself. Castiel can already feel the flip-flopping of his stomach, anticipating Mary’s opinion on his work. On top of that pressure, now he wants to impress Dean; to see what expressions cross his face as he reads Castiel’s stories. He wants to see all kinds of expressions cross Dean’s face. He closes his eyes and forces himself to lull asleep to the tune of a gruff voice lazily humming Smoke on the Water.

* * *

* * *

Castiel’s breathing stops with a click as someone shakes his shoulder. He counts to five before he opens his eyes, and forces his anticipated blush down.

“Wake up Castiel, we’re at your building.” Dean mutters. He steps back to give Castiel room to get out of the car. Mary’s already waiting at the curb, eyes squinting against the mild gusts pulling in the sea storms. Castiel cracks his neck, not enjoying the awkward tenseness in his back one bit. He pulls himself out of the car and stretches. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and makes for the door to the lobby.

“The elevator doesn’t work. The people in the room below mine like fireworks,” Castiel mentions before Dean pushes the inactive button. Instead, Castiel escorts them nine levels up the stairwell, pausing when he notices Mary’s lagging behind. He walks back to her, loops his arm in hers and slowly they continue to the eleventh story. When they finally reach the entrance outside of Castiel’s minuscule apartment, he nudges open the door and is welcomed by a spilling of his clothes strewn across the living room.

“Uh, it’s kind of a mess. If, um, you don’t mind I’m going to tidy up a bit. You’re welcome to sit at the counter.” Castiel ducks his head and leads his company in, gesturing towards the bar that is his kitchen.

“Feel free to grab anything if you’re hungry,” Castiel murmurs as he dives head first into the mountainous piles of dirty laundry and old takeout.

Within fifteen minutes, Castiel has his living room in presentable order with only a thin sheet of dust coating his pictures and television. He returns the vacuum to his closet and folds the blankets lying rumpled on his couch. He retreats to the bar to retrieve his audience when he hears a quiet discussion underway.

“... he can barely even keep his house in habitable order though,” the more gruff voice hisses. Dean. He doesn’t trust him because of his organizational skills? That’s a little harsh.

“Yes, but just look at him Dean. He’s obviously intelligent and on top of that he’s young and aesthetically gifted. Why shouldn’t we at least read his work?” Mary has too much faith in him. He never thought he was particularly intelligent; he simply finds everyone else to be a total idiot. And aesthetically gifted? Well, gee Mary, way to look at the pie without eating it. Castiel has absolutely no desire to exploit his looks in the name of success. He only uses them to piss off ragingly straight strangers.

“But you can’t market an author based off his looks. Castiel Novak is not a famous name. If he’d been published before, even for a children’s book for God’s sake, he’d be worth the risk.” Dean sounds insistent to refuse Castiel’s work. He decides to walk in on them before he’s further insulted.

Mary looks up at him with an expression caught between surprise and sheepishness. She’s about to open her mouth to speak but Castiel quickly cuts her off.

“I’m well aware that I have not yet published. I also know that looks aren’t marketable. But if you’re going to bitch to your mom about my lack of worth as an author, you should probably read the damned stories before you open your stupid mouth in the author’s house,” he snaps. Castiel is being harsh. But he can’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t like he’d asked Dean to come with; he would actually prefer if it was just Mary that read his work before further edits ensued. Still, Castiel needs to metaphorically spank this brat for ragging on his writing. He  _knows_ he’s good.

“Yeah? Well the fact remains that you appear to be more hassle than you’re worth and you’ve got cowlicks from existing. So, before I judge you on your work, you have to bring something presentable to the table.” Dean folds his arms and arranges a stony expression on his face, probably with the intention of intimidation but having the same effect as an angry mosquito on a dinosaur. “We’ve published for Rowling, dude. And while your work may be good, it’s probably not  _Rowling_ good.”

At that Mary decides to intercede. Slapping her hands so hard on the table that Castiel actually flinches, Mary snaps, “If you toddlers would just shut your mouths for one damn second, maybe I’d have a manuscript in my hands, and maybe you’d be well on your way to making some money.” She huffs and continues in a more mild tone. “You can’t just bring these silly arguments into a deal, Dean. Castiel has a point; you have no idea how he writes until you actually read his work. Castiel, would you kindly hand my idiot son what you’re holding?” Castiel is frozen with shock at the authority this woman has over Dean. Immediately after she admonishes him, Dean resigns; his shoulders slump, his snarling mouth relaxes into a grimace, and he rests his head in a palm. Castiel quickly lays  _Natural Bodies_ on the counter and watches as Mary picks it up and tucks it into her messenger bag.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how many stories have you actually completed?” Mary inquires, her eyes gleaming in a way that reminds Castiel of his adoring two-year-old niece.

“I’m finished with the major edits for six, have begun editing two more, and am in the process of writing three more.” Castiel expects the surprised gasp from Mary. That’s a lot, even for a wealthy writer with time on their hands. What Castiel doesn’t expect is the almost repressed ‘whoa’ from Dean. He turns his stare onto the man, gauging his reaction. But the slip has gone and passed; the man’s features arranged back into their poker face of cold indifference.

“Damn Cas, you’re fast,” Mary looks... impressed. She grabs his hand and develops Gabriel’s death grip. “If you’re finishing this fast, I would love to see the other five finished books.” She’s beaming at him with the most hopeful-puppy like bearing he has ever seen.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll be right back; just let me go get them.” Castiel pulls his hand free and strides off to his bedroom. He goes back to his file cabinet where every paper he’s written is stored. Just as he squats to open the bottom drawer, he hears a quick  _rap-rap-rap_ at his door. Not bothering to look over his shoulder he says, “I’m getting them Mary, calm down.”

“I’m perfectly calm,” a deep baritone rumbles about ten feet behind him. He slowly turns his head to see Mr. Adonis himself standing in his doorway. “Just apologizin’.” Dean’s lips move into a tiny smile, really just a quirk of the corners of his mouth, and Castiel is lucky he is seated to the floor. Dean’s face should just be illegal.

“Oh, are you now? Feeling regretful to know that the-little-train-that-couldn’t is, in fact, talented?” Castiel can’t keep the bitter edge out of his voice completely and he can tell that Dean registers this going by the anger that dances in his eyes.

“No, dumbass, I’m sorry that I assumed. I’m going to read it for proof that you’re full of shit.” Dean takes a few steps closer to Castiel. “And then I will be expecting your apology.” With a smirk, he bops Castiel in the nose. Castiel flushes scarlet in pure undiluted rage.

“What the hell do I have to apologize for, you dumb freckled butt cheek?!” Castiel shouts, then immediately turns a shade darker at the realization of what he just said. “Er.. what I mean is I haven’t been in the wrong yet, so you’re on, Ken Doll.” With alarming amounts of blood pooling in his cheeks and neck, Castiel jerks his wrist and all five of the other completed manuscripts fly out of the drawer, scattering around his knees.

“Fuck! Ugh, just my fucking luck.” Castiel shrieks, realizing his within a stone’s throw of blowing a gasket. He pushes sheets together haphazardly, not bothering to check if the contents are even in proper order. He’s about to Hulk out when a dark blue leg bumps into his jeans clad one.

“Here, lemme help.” Dean mumbles. He pushes Castiel’s hands off of his unorderly manuscripts, taking them in his own hands. Castiel only stares in shock as Dean quickly locates all of the title pages in a matter of seconds.

“See, the order doesn’t really matter. Mom was planning on publishing you anyways so you can just fax them over.” Dean’s eyes crinkle in the beginnings of a smile, adding a degree of ingenuity to his words. “And she would’ve preferred to read them on her laptop so don’t stress yourself over these.” Dean sets the pile of fiction down on Castiel’s bed and puts a hand to Castiel’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Cas. Don’t freak out.”

Castiel can’t help but slump into the man’s steady hand and release a week’s worth of pent up stress. He feels a twitch in Dean’s hands and looks up to those two sparkling forests. Dean grumbles something, then pulls Castiel in for an embrace, patting his hair down as he does so. Castiel lets himself dip even further into Dean and is rewarded with an approving grunt. He brings his hands to Dean’s lower back and rests his head on his broad shoulder. He feels Dean’s hands moving, downwards, at a pace like molasses. Inching lower and lower, and leaving a trail of blazing hot gooseflesh in their wake, Dean’s fingertips are just at the top of Castiel’s ass when Mary shouts from the living room.

“Cas? I’m going to need you to mail me the links to your books if you want me to read them. And Dean, yeah, I know I’m good. No need to thank me.” There is a light chuckle from behind the wall and Dean freezes where he is. Castiel prods at Dean’s shoulder blades until Dean slowly removes his arms from their amative cradle. Castiel retreats to Mary as soon as he is free. And yes his fully aware of how much of a pansy ass he is.

Making his entrance into his living room, Castiel neglected to check his appearance in a mirror. Judging by Mary’s expression, his hair is in odd angles from Dean’s fingers tangling in it and his cheeks are a near fluorescent hue of red. Her eyebrows are raised, hinting at the millions of questions that are likely running just under the surface of her lovely blond head. Her mouth is curling into a smirk; she knows. How the hell is this woman so goddamn aware of everything? Castiel holds his tongue as Mary’s mouth opens to speak.

“You know, I could leave with Dean’s car and you’ll have to drive him home. Just if you want to... arrange some editing dates or discuss your writing style,” Mary suggests, making to stand without awaiting Castiel’s answer.

“Mary I... I just met him! And you shouldn’t be leaving your son with people you’ve just met. I could be an axe murderer or something and you wouldn’t know,” Castiel manages to gasp. His face is likely of similar shade to a basket of strawberries. Just as he opens his mouth to continue, a sturdy hand pushes against his hip to move him out of the doorway, allowing him to forget the majority of the English language.

“You’re not a murderer, Cas. And I’m leaving. Why don’t you two go out for coffee later? Castiel left his car at Naomi’s so you’re going to need to pick that up.” Mary struts toward the studio’s main door and opens it. Before she departs, Mary turns in a half circle.

“You boys be careful,” she adds, then hastily strides out, closing the door behind her. Castiel’s jaw drops when the realization that he’s alone in his apartment with an attractive man sets in. He looks to Dean and finds him in a similar state. Trying to diffuse the tension from the air, Castiel shuffles to his kitchen and opens the refrigerator.

“Is there anything you’d like to eat?” he asks, peeking over his shoulder at his guest.

“I’ll have whatever you make,” Dean answers. He then strips himself of his blazer and tosses it over Castiel’s couch. He walks over to the bar table and situates himself on one of the stools. Castiel quickly looks back to where he’s pulling out the ingredients for a sandwich.

“I hope you like turkey,” Castiel mutters as he assembles what will be their lunch. A few moments later, Castiel walks over to the bar and plops down next to Dean with their food.

“Thanks, man.” Dean takes a bite. When he notices Castiel isn’t doing the same and instead is watching him he asks, “What?”

“Does Mary always do this? Leave you in potential publishee’s apartments?” Castiel only asks because he is honestly curious. He’s never had a publisher try to get so close to him. A publisher has never called him back at all, for that matter.

“No, she’s only done it once, with my ex Tessa. Though, she was only in it for the money so I should be thankful that it’s ended,” Dean declares. He continues, “Oh! And with my friend Charlie but she’s into women. It would be too weird; she’s basically my sister.” Dean looks over at Castiel. He looks like he’s about to ask and Castiel answers him before the question leaves his lips.

“I am gay, Dean,” Castiel affirms. He pulls his sandwich to his lips but doesn’t attempt to eat it. Really, Castiel is waiting for Dean’s reaction. He turns and is surprised by the smile playing the edges of Dean’s eyes. “What? Is something funny?” Castiel is confused. Usually it’s this part of the conversation where he is either frotted against the wall, punched, or politely told ‘sorry’.

“No, Cas, nothing’s funny. I’m bisexual.” Dean looks over at Castiel; his eyes shining. He puts down his food and takes one of Castiel’s hands. Castiel stills at the contact. Dean turns him so he’s facing his body. When he opens his mouth, Castiel couldn’t have hoped for better words.

“Cas? Want to get some coffee?” Dean proposes. After a few minutes of unrelenting staring on Castiel’s part, Dean pulls his hand back and nervously runs it through his hair. The shift is so damn adorable that Castiel giggles and pats Dean on the knee.

“Sure Dean. Let’s go get some coffee.” Castiel scoots off the stool and lends a hand to Dean. Dean takes it, smiling with earnest joy.

* * *

* * *

As it turns out, walking to Naomi’s is a lot easier than driving. Before Castiel and Dean left his apartment, Castiel made sure to grab jackets and scarves for each of them. He hates walking near the bay; it’s always chilly and the air smells an unpleasant mix of dead fish and leaked boat oil. Castiel was pleasantly surprised to step out of the crappy building and find that the smell decided to take a day off. The pair decide to take the long walk to the café, walking along the shore and through the park.

“We don’t live in the city, so it’s pretty nice to come up here every once in a while,” Dean remarks. He’s talked a little about his hometown in Kansas, where their Dad raised Sam and him until Dean turned sixteen. Mary decided it best to move them in with her at her mansion in Monterey. Dean goes on, “Of course, I have my apartment in Seattle, but that’s a way’s out.”

Dean has spoken about his father in gruesome detail. The man, John, used to punish his children in order to make them more ‘manly.' He’s been especially hard on Sam, who takes after his mother’s sense of adventure. When Sam announced he was going with Dean when he was twelve, John wouldn’t come out of the basement until he was fully incoherent and reeking of cheap whiskey. What he’s done to Dean... he refuses to mention.

“The city isn’t always nice. It’s too loud and I don’t make enough money to live here anymore. Berkeley’s a bitch to pay for and I didn’t even graduate. A degree in English literature does not do much.” Castiel has a horrid feeling that he will always be just a few dollars away from poverty, but he chooses to ignore that in favor of spending his days in the beds of strangers and behind a laptop  _tap-tap-taping_ away at his beaten to hell keyboard. “That’s why I really hope your mother likes my books.”

Dean looks over at Castiel and grins, baring all of his pearly whites. “She’s definitely going to like them, Cas. Don’t even worry.”

Castiel returns his grin with a shy smile. He reaches over to touch Dean’s hand. Dean looks down, then rolls his wrist so he catches it and grips Castiel’s hand in his as they walk to the café. After that, they don’t speak much; they just quietly take in each other’s presence.

When they arrive at Naomi’s, Sam is still working the register and mixing the coffees. From what Castiel can see, Sam’s doing a pretty good job. He even has time to pause and make himself a smoothie. Skilled, smart fucker. It took Castiel two weeks to get the hang of the damn job. Castiel releases Dean’s hand and walks to the break room in back.

“Castiel Jethro Novak, I told you to keep your sorry ass out of the shop tonight!” Naomi practically explodes in a terrifying display of frustration. She eyes Castiel from head to toe, making little clicks in the back of her throat when she notices Castiel’s ruffled hair and the change in his usual outerwear. She opens her mouth to speak. “Did you come here with that pretty boy?”

“Yeah, we’re just here as customers,” Castiel replies gruffly. He hates it when Naomi takes on that parental tone. As if she’s not harsh enough already. Though Castiel refuses to admit it to himself, he knows she’s looking out for his best interests but she could get off his fucking back by not trying to put him on every hot stranger’s dick.

“Just make sure you tip Sam properly. He took a double shift for you.” Naomi brushes a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ Cas, you really don’t waste any time.”

“Fuck you Naomi, you know I didn't. I’ve just met him three hours ago, do you really think I’d be done in three hours?” He wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis. He loves seeing the faces Naomi makes when he spills his sexual escapades. It’s his greatest source of entertainment.

“Ugh, go get your damn coffee. I don’t need to hear about your adventures in glorious freckled Campbell butt. Oh, and whatever you get is on the house.” And with that touching comment, Naomi leaves the break room to assist Sam before the after-work crowd arrives. Castiel sighs and pushes open the door to be greeted with the image of the elder Winchester wearing  _his_ aviators,  _his_ denim jacket, and  _his_ red plaid scarf sitting in the love seat where his mother sat only a day before. Castiel feels his blood rush south at the image of him wearing Castiel’s boxers. Fuck, Castiel just met him today. He should not be thinking about tying him up to his bed and fucking him senseless.

Castiel forces all of his thoughts to shut up and walks out into the crowded main room. He approaches the love seat and looks down at Dean.

“I’m having the oddest occurrence of déjà vú right now,” Castiel acknowledges. He steps over Dean’s outstretched legs and flops on the cushion beside him. “What would you like? Naomi says it’s on her.”

“I’d like for you to hang out here for a bit with me.” Dean glances at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He keeps looking as he shifts so an arm is over Castiel’s shoulders. “We can get coffee whenever.”

Castiel relaxes into the touch, enjoying the human contact. It’s been a while since his last boyfriend; hell, it’s been a while since his straight thing with his ex-girlfriend Meg. Dean is warm and sturdy and God knows he’s attractive.

“Hey Dean?” Castiel asks tentatively. He’s bad at initiating a date; he always has been. He waits for Dean’s response.

“Yes, Castiel?” Dean replies, too soon for Castiel’s tastes. Ugh, why did he not say ‘Cas’; that would’ve broken the awkwardness that Castiel feels building up in his gut.

“Would you... like to catch a, um, movie with me?” Castiel finally questions, then moves to bury his face into his palms. He’s blushing like a schoolgirl; he can feel the heat of it. There is a pressure at his wrists, tugging them away from his face. Dean pulls his hands to his lap, one at a time. 

“Sure, Cas. What’d you have in mind?” Dean’s eyes are so gentle; the flecks of gold gleaming in the afternoon light.

“How about we go to the drive-in across the bay?” Castiel suggests. He knows the drive there will give them plenty of time to talk. Castiel would love to learn about Dean; about what he’s done, why he dropped out of school when he was such a promising pupil, about everything this man has touched and has affected him 

“Okay.” Dean replies. Pushing his hands onto his knees, Dean gets up off of his cushion. He turns so he’s facing Castiel. He makes a peculiar suggestion. “I’m going to help Sammy make our coffee. Okay?”

“Okay, Dean.” Castiel murmurs. He crosses his legs and pulls his phone from his pocket. It displays two messages: one from Gabriel and another from an unknown number. Castiel clicks on Gabriel’s first. It reads ‘ _heya Cas_ :)  _i see u found urself a new sex thaang! give urself a break and get some birthday lovin’._ Castiel automatically presses delete as soon as he views the messages contents. He then checks the text from the anonymous sender. He taps the screen to open it and it says ‘ _Cas, it’s Anna. Txt me as soon as you’re home -hugs’._ Anna. He hasn’t spoken with his estranged half-sister in nearly three years. He looks back to the now dimmed screen and types a quick ‘ _okay_ ’ before he pockets the device.

He doesn’t spend long waiting for Dean, only about ten minutes, before Dean walks up to him wearing his apron. Castiel feels the heat hit the tops of his ears and he focuses on Dean’s hands. In them, Dean holds a way too frothy frappuccino and a strawberry-blonde smoothie with extra whipped cream. Castiel goes for the less rabid looking option and wraps his lips around the bendy straw. The large amount of sugar hits him at once, and for once Castiel is glad he can hold a perfect poker face even in seemingly hopeless situations. He smiles at Dean and lies.

“This is really good, Dean,” he mumbles; a large and toothy grin plastered on his face. God, he hopes Dean is a moron and doesn’t notice the twitch in his left eye. Evidently, Dean has a good eye for poker faces.

“Cas, what’s wrong with it? Here, take this one.” Dean stammers, pushing the now deflating foamy frappuccino in Castiel’s direction. Castiel tentatively reaches for it, though his body is urging him to run to the nearest bathroom. He ducks his head and tests this creation. Huh. It’s not that bad. He looks back up at Dean and makes to speak.

“You put far too much sugar in the strawberry-blonde. The frappuccino is all right; however, you need to add more cream so it doesn’t froth out like that.” Castiel stands and winds a hand around the string of the apron at Dean’s waist. He does not take any pleasure whatsoever from the faint twinge of pink that touches the back of Dean’s neck.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” he says, leading Dean behind the counter. Castiel double checks for Naomi, then he reaches for the fruit-smoothie mixes. He pulls Dean over to him and demonstrates how to blend the juices and sugar together in such a way that they aren’t overpowering one another. When he finishes, he tugs Dean to his stomach and arranges himself along Dean’s arms. He guides his hands as he pours the correct amount of each juice and a small amount of sugar then adds ice to blend. Dean is stiff in his arms, the sculpted muscles in his shoulders twitching whenever Castiel makes a movement too suddenly. When he finishes, he releases Dean and grabs two plastic cups. He places the cups down on the counter and pours the semi-frozen mixture into each cup. He meets Dean’s gaze and takes in the minute traces of lust dancing in them. He notices the slight dip in the angle of Dean’s eyes, suggesting that he’s looking at Castiel’s lips or chin. Castiel also takes in Dean’s slight lean towards him. He takes a small step back and pushes one of the cups towards the other man.

“A-and that’s how you properly make a... strawberry-blonde,” Castiel stutters, trying to escape the intensity of the situation. It seems to have the desired effect because after a slight hesitation, Dean’s face breaks out into a lovely smile with a bubbly chuckle. He reaches for his cup and tentatively sips at it.

“Nice job, man. This is awesome!” Dean beams, almost no evidence of the tenseness before. Almost. There is a slight tightness to the skin around his eyes. Castiel bristles knowing he’s intentionally stopped something from happening. He turns away from Dean’s false smile and feels behind himself for Dean’s hand. When he feels calloused fingertips brush against his own, he warms. He intertwines his fingers with the other man’s, feeling a slight tug on his wrist. He turns and meets Dean’s eyes, only inches between them. Castiel could easily close that distance, could feel those plump lips against his own. Before he made up his mind to lean in, his lips take over and brush along Dean’s jaw line.

Something, someone, makes a strangled noise as he walks out of the break room and into the main kitchen. Castiel jumps and turns to see Sam, decorated in an expression suggesting displeasure at the scene he’s witnessing. Though, beneath the repulsion of seeing his brother with someone, there is a hint of happiness in his eyes. Sam hasn’t seen Dean happy in years; he works constantly and refuses to break for even the most stressful of times. Dean’s face suggests a deep-rooted contentment that he hasn’t seen since his university years; since his last girlfriend Lisa. The only difference is that he didn’t know Dean had a thing for guys, too.

Dean takes this awkward moment to try and arrange himself into a less compromising position, most likely with the intention of passing what just happened off as an act of camaraderie. He flings an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and mock punches him on the arm. He also takes care to ensure the apron is concealing the bump his arousal has created between his legs.

“Heya, Sammy. What’s hanging dude?” Dean asks, really demands of his brother. His eyes are something akin to barely reigned in exasperation. He draws his hand from Castiel’s shoulder down to his lower back and sneaks a hand beneath the hem of his shirt. His thumb draws circles into the exposed flesh. Castiel can’t help the flush that begins at his neck and colors his face. Sam, of course, notices this and makes a poor attempt to stop a smirk from appearing on his face.

“I think I should be asking you that, Dean. But, I really don’t wanna know,” Sam snarks. Then, turning to Castiel, Sam announces, “Cas, I’m going to duck out. There’s literally no one here but you and my brother groping like teenagers. Thank God for that. I’ll be in tomorrow, see you two later.”

And with that, Sam makes his most gracious exit to the back, leaving a series of suggestive winks and gestures in his wake. When he’s out of the door, Castiel can’t help the little breathy giggle he releases and his blush deepens even further. When he’s mostly composed himself, he turns to Dean.

“Did you really think your brother wouldn’t notice you feeling me up?” He asks, knowing a wicked glint is in his eyes by the way Dean’s expression changes. Dean’s already slightly reddened face darkens and he ducks his head. When he looks up, he appears to be amused.

“Nah, but the way you reacted didn’t help him miss it either,” he replies. They stare at each other like that for a moment, memorizing the other’s face. When Castiel grins, Dean automatically smiles back. Castiel breaks the gaze and walks around Dean to untie his apron from his waist. Dean pulls it off and hands it to Castiel. Castiel excuses himself to go hang it in the break room, wrapping it around his hanger. Just before he exits the room, he notices a note tacked onto the event board. Upon closer inspection, he finds that it’s addressed to him. He removes the tack and takes the note down.

_Cas-_

_Just to let you know, Dean really likes it when girls run their hands through his hair. Also, please don’t do this in front of me; I tend to try and avoid being scarred for life. Oh! Dean also really likes the ocean, but he lives too far inland to see it. Maybe you can take him there, maybe not. I don’t really care. I just miss seeing him smile._

_-Sam’_  

Castiel looks up to check the clock and finds he’s been staring at the message for nearly five minutes. He should go back out to Dean. Castiel pockets the note and pushes open the door to the café’s main room. Dean’s sitting on one of the wooden chairs in the middle of the enclosure; his face is molded in an expression of frustration as he reads whatever is on his phone. Castiel walks up to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hoping whatever it may be is not important. Dean’s eyes slowly move from his phone to Castiel’s eye with painstaking effort. His brow is furrowed and he looks like he wants to punch something.

“We just lost an author two weeks before we publish. Everything has already been distributed, and this fucking asshat wants more goddamned money. We’re already giving him half a million in royalties along with five percent of all sales,” Dean snaps, his right fist clenching and unclenching rapidly. Castiel lays his hand over that fist and is relieved when some of Dean’s stiffness seems to melt off his arms.

“Hey, it’s okay. You know, you’ll both still make money if you raise his percentage to seven, “ he suggests, hoping the other man will calm at the likely terrible suggestion. Apparently, it has the opposite effect as Dean jumps up and asks Castiel if he’ll take him to the Campbell offices in South San Francisco. Castiel just nods, though he has no idea what Dean is planning.

“Great, let’s go now. I’ll buy you dinner later.” Dean says. The nervous twitch is still playing in his hands. He looks absolutely rigid with anxiety. What really pushes Castiel over the edge of mild irritation to anger at this author who thinks he’s so wonderful is that Dean tries to reassure Castiel with a positively false smile. It’s a look that doesn’t belong on his face, as if he’s practiced it plenty of times but it can never honestly reside there.

Tentatively, Castiel stands and steps toward Dean. He reaches his arms out and lightly places his hands on Dean’s hips. He looks up to the other man’s eyes for any objection. The only thing he catches is a hint of confusion. Taking this as encouragement, Castiel takes another step so the toes of his Chucks rest between Dean’s Italian loafers. He brings his face closer and closer until the tips of their noses are touching. Slowly, Castiel pushes his lips against Dean’s, enjoying the way they slot together. When Dean’s hands flutter to grip Castiel’s hair, they are kissing. Dean opens his mouth and Castiel feels the warm pressure of Dean's tongue against his own. Castiel's hands move lower, gripping Dean's sculpted ass. Dean gasps when the movement forces his half-hardening cock against Castiel's. He responds by sucking down Castiel's jaw and frotting upward, making Castiel elicit a primal groan. They stay like that for a few moments until the pressure becomes too much. Dean slips a hand down Castiel's jeans and palms his cock until he's riding an orgasm so hard he sees black spots coloring his vision.  When he's soft and sensitive, he sighs and chastely kisses Dean. He then notices the warmth pressing against his hip.

"Dean, you haven't..." Castiel feels terrible. Here he is, relieved and exhausted and feeling better than he has in weeks while Dean has a hard-on that hasn't yet been attended to. Castiel’s face fashions itself into an expression of displeasure. When Dean notices, he wraps his arms around Castiel’s middle and scratches at his back.

"No Cas, don't feel bad. It's fine." He breathes. Dean looks utterly miserable. Castiel decides he'll do something special for Dean.

Castiel brings his hands to the button on his pressed trousers. The little jump Dean gives when his hands brush over his crotch is as good of an answer that Castiel could get regarding how much Dean wants, no,  _needs_ this. He curls his fingers over Dean’s waistband and observes the goose bumps rising on the sliver of skin he’s exposed. As he begins to unbutton the trousers, he looks to Dean and asks what he'd like.

"Anything Cas, anything's fine," he gasps, shaking from the effort of holding himself back. Castiel finishes unzipping Dean's pants and pushes them down his legs. Castiel then crouches and brings his mouth to Dean's briefs. Looking up at the other man, he can hardly see the emerald that normally colors his eyes they're so dark. He looks back to his cock and presses his lips along the base. Dean's hips push against Castiel's face, searching for any friction.

“Not yet, Dean. Just hold on for a second,” Castiel murmurs, dragging down Dean’s briefs as he speaks. He pulls them down to his ankles and turns his attention to Dean’s throbbing member. Castiel drapes a hand around the base and draws long pulls along the shaft. A bead of precum drops from the tip and Castiel ducks to take it on his tongue. Dean’s hips stutter beneath his hands, picking up a more erratic rhythm. Castiel lets him fuck into his mouth, taking only a moment to bring him to an utterly wrecked mess. Dean moans Cas’ name as he bucks in once, then twice, and groans as he comes down Castiel’s throat. He collapses in a heap beside Castiel and pulls Castiel onto the floor next to him. Once he’s calmed his breathing, Dean turns to him. 

“Cas, you’re awesome,” Dean declares, nuzzling his way under Castiel’s chin. Castiel pillows an arm under Dean’s shoulders. He then pulls his jacket over them, though they’re going to have to run back to Castiel’s apartment soon to clean up. He brings a hand to Dean’s face and draws tiny invisible constellations; he connects Dean’s infinite freckles. He pulls Dean so he’s facing him.

“You’re awesome,” Castiel corrects. He leans in and closes those few inches to press his lips to Dean’s temple, then snuggles against Dean’s back. Though neither of them will admit it, they were spooning; and for the moment, neither of them cared. They were blissed out, post orgasmic, and in the arms of another warm body.


	3. The Woman With the Bakery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel wakes up in a bed he doesn't know. He finds clothes that aren't his, eats food he's not accustomed to, and his car is driven by someone that's not him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the rest because I felt like writing thirty pages of Destiel when I was at the hospital. I didn't feel like making it too long though, so chapter 4 is actually part of chapter 3. Also, I swear this chapter introduces Jess and addresses Meg/Cas.

Castiel wakes with a start. He’s not in his own bed; it’s far too comfortable for that. He rubs at the sheets beneath him and they’re softer than pure silk. The bed is plush and soft and lavishly decorated in pillows, going off of the amount stacked behind his head. He cracks open his eyes and finds that the entire room is larger than his studio: there’s an open closet in front of him that’s about the size of his bedroom. The walls are a tasteful shade of royal blue, adorned with silver crown molding in the corners and along the ceiling. He rolls on the seemingly endless bed until he reaches the end and falls onto a shag carpet. He finds a post-it note on the bedside table; he picks it up to read. It says ‘ _Cas, sorry this might seem a bit weird. When I woke up it was 2am so I borrowed your car and brought us to my place. I’ll be downstairs when you wake up. -Dean_.’

Castiel stands and walks into the ostentatiously large closet to find some clothes, as he’s not wearing anything but his fuzzy monkey socks. In it are rows upon rows of suits: red suit, blue suit, business suit, casual suit. Dean appears to really like his suits. Ignoring those options, Castiel digs deeper, finding a large expanse of casual wear. He sees band shirts, loads of flannel, raggedy old jeans, work boots, and an assortment of multicolored knee high socks. He likes this closet more; everything in here shows Dean’s more human side. Castiel picks up a worn down Zeppelin shirt and a pair of faded grey skinny jeans. Setting them on the floor, Castiel goes on an undies expedition. He scans the room and... bingo! There’s a small cabinet towards the back containing what looks to be underwear. When he opens the top drawer he finds briefs, more briefs, and who would have guessed it: even more briefs. He sighs and moves for the next drawer down. Yes, boxers! He finds a whimsical pair decorated in purple elephants eating peanuts with faces. He tugs them up his legs and almost moans at the feel of fresh and soft boxers. He wanders back to where he placed his borrowed outfit and dresses himself; checking in the mirror to see if he looks badass; he totally does.

He walks back out of the massive closet and into the beautiful room. He locates the bedroom door and spots another note placed near the handle. This one says, ‘ _once you're dressed and stuff I made breakfast. I hope you like bacon._ ’ Castiel folds the note and tucks it into his back pocket. He opens the door and his greeted by a winding staircase with an extremely modern design. The steps are entirely made of glass. the walls are painted black and decorated in pieces of elegant yet simple art. He looks up and sees a crystal chandelier hanging from the incredibly high ceiling. Castiel glances down to the staircase searching for any sort of railing. When he finds none, he cautiously walks down the narrow steps and into Dean’s decked out living room. There’s a large television displayed on the wall with plush couches and a large beanbag in the corner. He hears footsteps and turns to find Winchester the Younger walking toward him with a large smile on his face.

“‘Mornin’ Cas! Dean’s in the kitchen making breakfast for you; it’s just over there,” Sam announces, gesturing behind the wall separating the dining room and the rest area. Castiel glances at Sam, who is already dressed to the nines in what looks to be jogging gear. Sam also looks over Castiel’s appearance; surely he noticed his brother’s clothes on another man’s back. An awkward pause settles between them, only interrupted when Dean replies to Sam.

“Thanks Sam... and good morning. Did Dean make any coffee?” Castiel asks, hoping he doesn’t look or sound too crabby. He’s got a headache from a general lack of caffeine and desperately needs a shower, but coffee would go a long way. Sam nods and Castiel makes his exit.

“Have a nice run,” he says offhandedly, smiling at Sam’s mildly shocked expression. Castiel turns to continue to the main kitchen, running his fingers over every polished surface. The table is made from a type of fancy wood that Castiel has never seen. There is fine china in a cabinet in between the tall windows; they probably belong to Mary. At the uppermost crests of the dining hall windows, there are stained glass depictions of scenes from Tarantino movies; Castiel’s favorite movie is Pulp Fiction, he can see anything resembling it from a distance. He walks around the bend and into a sparkling- literally sparkling- kitchen. All of the appliances are made of stainless steel and the floors and counter are adorned in deep blue marble tile. The walls, much like Dean’s bedroom, are a shade of sapphire, though are lighter than the rest of the house. There are massive open windows letting in the ocean breeze, tainting everything with the scent of seawater. The entire house is beautiful, more beautiful than any building Castiel has ever stayed in.

“Enjoying the view?” comes a gruff voice from behind him. Rough hands grab his hips and push him into an awaiting chair positioned alongside the countertop. He plops down with an audible _oof_ and frowns at the air. Dean walks around the counter and ducks only to return with two plates. He places them on the counter and piles on the pancakes and bacon he promised earlier. He pushes one of the plates to Castiel and takes the other with him as he walks around the counter and sits on the stool adjacent to Castiel’s.

“Dean, I don’t mean to pry or anything but... do you have any coffee? I can make it if you’d like,” Castiel mumbles. He hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s ungrateful for Dean’s food and hospitality. He looks over to see Dean with a confused expression on his face. 

“I don’t know, dude. We haven’t made our own coffee since we lived with Dad.” Dean looks quizzically at his plate. He then starts forking down his food, eating as though he hasn’t eaten in days. After he swallows down a massive mouthful, he turns back to Castiel.

“We can go get some after we’re finished,” Dean says. He turns his attention back to his plate and shovels the rest of his meal into his stomach. Castiel chooses to follow suit and eat away some of the massive contents in front of him. When they’re finished, and Dean is rubbing his belly in satisfaction, they walk back to the enormous living room and flop on the leather couch. Dean reaches for the remote and presses a button. The television flares to life with a scene from _The Amazing Spider Man._ The two sit in silence for a while, not really watching the movie. 

After a good half hour, Castiel shifts so his hip is rubbing against Dean’s. Dean looks to the other man and raises a brow. He burrows his hand behind Castiel and lets it rest along his ribcage. When Castiel continues leaning towards Dean, nearly scooting onto his lap, Dean sighs and slides out from under him.

“You _do_ know that if we did this, we wouldn’t leave the living room. Sam’s already walked in on me enough as it is,” Dean grumbles. He stands and holds out a hand for Castiel. “Let’s go buy that coffee you wanted.”

Castiel huffs as he lets himself be pulled off the couch, disappointed at the lack of response on Dean’s part. He follows Dean through the main hallway and back up the winding staircase. When Dean opens the door to his room, Castiel can’t completely quench the hope that flutters in his gut. Perhaps Dean’s changed his mind about an early morning fuck. As Dean passes the bed in favor of walking into his massive closet, he realizes that Dean does, in fact, intend to buy coffee with him. Castiel moves toward the other man’s bed and sags into its plush and comforting cradle. Several minutes pass before Dean reemerges with two jackets of obvious designer origin. Dean tosses Castiel the ebony one; it’s decorated in an assortment of leather bindings and looks to be inspired by dominatrix gear. He forces his eyes back to Dean’s in question.

“It looks like it’d fit you,” he states curtly. There is a slight pink tint to those freckles and he brings a hand to rub the back of his neck.

Castiel slips himself into the jacket and finds that though it is a little bulky around the shoulders, it is far more comfortable than the ratty secondhand clothes he’s been buying. He walks over to Dean’s mirror to check himself out. He looks _good_ , like he’s put on a good twenty pounds of muscle overnight. Apparently, Dean notices too. Dean steps behind Castiel and plants a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“You look sexy, Cas,” he purrs against Castiel’s hair. He nuzzles into the crook of Castiel’s collarbone and slides a balmy hand beneath the shirt Castiel has borrowed. Briefly, Castiel remembers the possessiveness he felt when it was Dean in his clothes. His thoughts are interrupted when a wet mouth begins sucking a bruise onto his neck. Castiel feels the slight give in his knees but he remains stoic and pulls away from his companion. 

“What happened to getting coffee?” he asks, enjoying the look of surprise displayed unabashed on Dean’s face. He rubs a thumb over Dean’s lower lip and brightens at its movement as the other man smiles. Dean pulls Castiel’s hand from his face to speak.

“What happened was your ass, idiot. We’re still going, just in a bit,” Dean replies. He pulls Castiel toward him by his belt loops and grinds his hips against the other’s. He breathes out a soft moan, enjoying the feel of Castiel’s length against his, through _his_ jeans. He reaches his hand down to unbutton Castiel’s jeans, and with a quick flick of his fingers they are sliding towards Castiel’s ankles. When Dean leans back onto his haunches and places his mouth just above the other man’s cock, Castiel puts a hand to his chin and forces him to look into his eyes.

“Dean, I highly doubt we’re going to make it out of this bedroom if you really want to do this, and I really need my coffee.” Castiel bends over and gently takes Dean’s hands to pull him up. Then, he reaches to pull up his borrowed jeans. When he looks back to Dean’s face, he sees mild irritation there.

“We will when we get back, I promise,” Castiel says to reassure him. He buttons his pants and walks over near the bed. He stoops and retrieves the deep green jacket Dean has abandoned on the floor, forgotten in his haste to strip Castiel. He ambles back to Dean and tucks him into the warm fabric. “I’ll even text Naomi and ask to have the day off.”

“All right Cas, that’s what I’m talking about.” Dean places his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss onto his chapped lips. He slides his hands down Castiel’s arms and lightly grasps his hands. “Okay, dude. I’ll get my keys,” Dean releases his hold on Castiel and walks to the bedside table. He grabs Cas’ keys out of the little basket lying there and stuffs them into his back pocket. He turns back to Castiel and holds his hand out. 

“Let’s go.”

* * *

* * *

As the two men drive down the forest-encompassed highway, Castiel tells Dean about his books. He starts by explaining his first book _Natural Bodies_ , a story he wrote based off of his brother Gabriel’s stint with a woman in Las Vegas. Gabriel, being the unaware doting bastard he is, let himself be drugged and kidnapped by a stripper called Destiny. He awoke in a factory in the outskirts of southern Utah tied to a pipe. Two large men were standing guard just five feet away from him on each side. When the woman came back into the room, she explained what he was going to do: transfer money from his account to an overseas one, and when to do it. She said he’d need someone’s help, so automatically Gabriel called Castiel.

“Did you do it?” Dean interrupts. Castiel brings a finger to his lips to shush him and continues.

“I didn’t do it, no. But the woman stole his phone and said that if I didn’t provide some money, Gabriel would be killed. So I borrowed my father’s car and met them at the location she’d told me. I found Gabriel was released but surrounded by over-muscled douche bags. The woman, she told me to call her Meg, dragged me to another car and said she would release Gabriel of I did her this favor,” Castiel pauses, remembering how angry Meg was. He’d never expected to end up dating her, at the time. She was blonde, beautiful, and cruel. He grins as he goes on.

“We ended up driving to L.A. and we got a hotel room. Dean stop giving me that look; we had sex, are you happy now?” He looks to Dean, who is grinning up something crazy. Castiel sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

 “Gabriel was released about a day after we arrived. Basically, it ended up being pretty anticlimactic, but a story’s a story. Though, if you read the book, Gavin dies and Macy makes off with millions. Meg was the last, by the way. She’s the one who convinced me to stick with writing. She told me that if I didn’t like college I should leave,” Castiel finishes. She’s also the reason Dean and Castiel ended up together, indirectly. If it weren’t for Meg, he’d never ended up working at a coffee shop, or living in the city, or even dropping out to become a full time writer. Meg was awesome, but she’s gone.

“So this Meg chick, was she your straight thing?” Dean asks, peeking over at Castiel. Castiel frowns at that. He never liked to think of it that way, she was never a set of genitals for him to pleasure himself upon.      

“She is my ex, Dean. It wasn’t a straight thing or a gay thing, it was romantic and I liked her quite a lot.” Castiel turns his head to look out the window. Everything is quiet for a few minutes; tensely quiet. Dean puts a hand on Castiel’s knee.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Dean looks as though he doesn’t know what he said was wrong.

“Don’t be sorry if you don’t know what you’re apologizing for. When you first saw me, did you think of me as an author or an opportunity to fuck?” Castiel asks, though he doesn’t really want the answer. When Dean doesn’t respond right away, he peels his eyes off of the zooming landscape and peers into Dean’s eyes. Dean’s face is molded into an expression of consideration, as though he’s going to great lengths to find a safe response. Just when Castiel was starting to form little assumptions in his mind, Dean glanced over and answered.

“Initially, yes I did think of you as an opportunity to... fuck. But Cas, come on, you’ve gotta know you’re damn hot. Oh don’t give me that bullshit,” Castiel had managed to gasp, growl, and sniffle in one breath. Dean suppresses a snarl, then proceeds.

“Cas, I’ve only met you a day ago. And let me tell you, you’re pretty damn awesome. If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have let you take my bed last night so don’t even start on that ‘just for sex’ shit. I’m your publisher. I need to establish a healthy relationship with you. I assumed that it would be friendly but I guess I was wrong. So to answer your damned question, I thought of you as both. You didn’t look like you’d be much of an author but Mom called me this morning to tell me she finished _Natural Bodies_ and that thing’s over four-hundred pages long. And she took over a week to finish the first draft of _The Cuckoo’s Calling_ and it’s her favorite book, so I’m assuming yours is going to be kickass,” Dean mutters, taking a deep breath before finishing his argument. 

“I would like to get to know you more though. We’ll be editing together, maybe you can do it at my place. Or I can help at your place... y’know, just a suggestion,” he murmurs in a childlike tone. Castiel observes the coy expression on his face and stiffens when he realizes what Dean is suggesting.

“Dean, are you asking me to go steady with you? My, oh my we’ve got ourselves a lover boy!” Castiel chuckles at the bright red blooming on Dean’s neck and ears. A few moments later, after both men have calmed down, Castiel looks over at Dean to answer his question.

“Sure, Dean. I’d like that very much.” Now it’s Castiel’s turn to blush. He busies himself with picking at his fingernails until he sees the small smile on Dean’s face. They drive in contented silence for a while, not wanting to mess with the calm of the moment they’ve shared. When they finally arrive in Carmel, the town where the bakery is located, Castiel ogles at the multitude of exquisite mansions. Every residency is massive, and they only house one family each, according to Dean. Castiel could fit his family, extended family, and close friends in one of the smaller ones. When they pass a glorious estate with a lion mounted gate, Castiel coos at Dean until he finally pulls over so Castiel can touch them. The town is wealthy, quaint, and classy: entirely new concepts to Castiel since he left high school.

“It’s beautiful!” Castiel exclaims, his eyes shining in the morning light. He scans the mountainous landscape, indulging every detail. He walks over to the edge of the road and leans over the guardrail. The view is picturesque to say the least; the sun is rising, creating orange dancing patterns across the ocean. Trees are casting shadows over his and Dean’s forms. Dean follows him to the edge and tosses an arm across his shoulders.

“It sure is. Don’t you get to see this though? You live here all year.” Dean glances down to Castiel’s eyes and beams. Castiel would pay lots of money to make sure this man looked like that every minute of his life.

“No. San Francisco gets a lot of sea storms and it’s always just above sixty degrees there. Besides, we’re about three hours away. I don’t have gas money for trips like that,” Castiel answers, shuffling his feet. Of course, he wishes every day could start like this. Of course, he wishes things were better for him economically. Castiel has been broke since his father cut him off when he dropped out of university. And he would call his father, but they haven’t been on speaking terms since he came out to him and his mother. He looks back out to the ocean, finding peace in the repeating patterns of the waves.

“Cas... you know if you ever need anything, you can give me a call,” Dean mumbles, barely audible against the distant waves. Castiel lets a smile flit across his face. He knows Dean wouldn’t really help Castiel if it came to that; everyone else who promised didn’t and that left Castiel the option of sleeping with strangers for food. 

“Okay Dean.” Castiel decides to humor him and pushes off the rail and out of Dean’s embrace. He wanders back to his car and seats himself back in shotgun. Dean follows suit after a moment and climbs into the driver’s seat. He puts the key into the ignition and the two drive another three miles to the bakery.

* * *

* * *

The bakery, Amelia’s Bakery, is a lovely and extremely feminine coffee brewery in central Carmel. Along the walls are cabinets displaying a wide array of breads, pastries, and cakes. The coffee bags spaced in between them have little bows identifying how long each batch of beans was roasted. It’s so exquisitely Monroe. Castiel feels out of place as soon as he walks in, with his nine-year-old Chucks and his alarmingly scraggly stubble. A woman suddenly emerges from behind a lavishly decorated door.

“Oh, hello, Dean! How’s Sam doing? And who is this lovely friend?” the woman, Amelia going by her nametag, asks. She looks over Castiel with a puppy-like curiosity. He feels like he’s being invaded and nervously fiddles with his collar.

“This is Cas Novak. Cas, this is Amy Pond. She’s a friend of the family.” Dean gestures to each of them respectively. Castiel stops studying the ground to give her a friendly smile.

“Hey, Amy. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, hoping to break that all-seeing stare. He holds out a hand and relaxes when she immediately takes it.

“Oh no, Cas. The pleasure is all mine! Mary’s told me about you. You’re a writer? That’s wonderful! I’d love to read some of your work once it’s published,” Amy stammers out. She looks genuinely starstruck. Huh, so that’s how he must’ve looked to Dean and Mary. Castiel smiles and nods, and reaches out a hand for Dean. Dean takes it lightly, comfortingly. Castiel sighs and focuses back on Amelia.

“I hope you do. I’ve been waiting for a publisher to take my first book for nearly six years now. It would be fantastic if people read my work,” he muses. It would be nice to have his strenuous efforts rewarded. He gives Dean’s hand a squeeze and releases it. He then turns back to Amy.

“I’d love to see what you do. I’ve never really seen coffee being roasted- I only make the drinks. Can we do anything to help you?” Castiel asks, not backing away when Dean places a warning hand on his waist. He stares expectantly at Amelia, though he doubts she needs their assistance. A rainbow of expressions cross her face, spanning from curiosity to suspicion. Finally, she looks them both over and sighs.

“You just want to set stuff on fire is that it? Fine, I suppose you can help a bit but we’re not terribly busy on Saturdays.” She sighs and leads the way to the back of the bakery.

The coffee brewery is a large room full of high-pressurized bean roasting machines. Castiel has never seen such up to date technology in his life; Naomi’s uses grinders from the late eighties and all of their machines are performing at minimal function as to encourage skilled barista work. Amelia looks to Castiel and wiggles her eyebrows.

“I know the barista’s boner when I see it,” she says, her face sculpted into a knowing smirk. Castiel blushes and glimpses at Dean, who is trying (and failing) to hold in his laughter. Dammit, this woman’s making him look like a petulant brat. He turns his attention to the machines and grabs the nearest bucket of beans. Walking to the grinder, Castiel grabs the shovel and plops about ten pounds of beans into the storage shoot.

“Cas, do you know how to do this?” Amelia asks, her face a mixture between amusement and genuine concern for her machines.

“Yes, Amy. I’ve worked in a coffee shop for over six years now. I think I can handle it,” Castiel replies. He forces himself to sound arrogant. He likes people’s faces when they think he’s an asshole. He continues to put the roasted beans into the grinder, then closes the lid when it can’t take anymore. He hits the button that will make the smoothest coffee his ever brewed. After about a minute and a half, Castiel turns it off and opens the latch. The once solid beans are now a fine powder; finer than Castiel could ever afford. He turns to Amy and beams.

“Amelia, would you be a dear and hand me four of those bags behind you?” Castiel can’t help to keep the absolute smugness off of his grin when Amy stares shocked at the amount he ground in under five minutes. Silently, she hands him the bags.

“Thank you,” he says, and attaches a bag to the lip of the grinder. He fills them slowly, taking his sweet time with each one. When he finishes, Castiel takes the bags and hands them to Amy. “Here you are, darling. I don’t know how much you need but I’d be glad to make a hundred if I can keep ten for me and Dean.”

Castiel looks over to Dean, who looks to be caught between awe and arousal. Castiel shoots him a wink and the man chokes himself while hiding a whimper. Amelia looks between the two of them and grins.

“All right I wasn’t gonna give you any but you assholes are too cute. For every ten, you get two. That good enough, Cas?” She stares at him expectantly. He glances at Dean and catches the tiny nod. Castiel sighs then answers. 

“Fine, Amelia. But I want some of those pastries too.”

“Deal!” She replies, and the three go to work.

* * *

* * *

After about three hours, they’ve managed to roast and grind about two hundred large bags of coffee. It took a bit of time to train Dean to use the machines, and Amy’s output wasn’t nearly as much as Castiel’s but she called it quits after she ran out of storage space. She’s been searching out areas to place the coffee bags for the past fifteen minutes, leaving Castiel and Dean alone in the small lounge. Dean walks over to Castiel and places a hand in his back pocket.

“Done good, Cas. You’re cute when you work,” he whispers in Castiel’s ear. Pressing his lips into the crook beneath his ear. Castiel shivers and suppresses a small moan, but a moment too late. Dean hears his slip up and sucks a hickey into his skin there, causing Castiel to writhe and gasp wildly. When Amy finally walks back into the lounge to meet them, Dean has a hand up Castiel’s shirt and Castiel’s fingers pulling Dean’s hair into a spiky mess. Immediately, Castiel jumps up but sits back down when he spots the bulge protruding from his jeans.  
  


“This is probably exactly how it looks, and I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not,” Castiel states, staring Amy in the eye. God, he should work on his bluntness; social cues are not his thing. Amy scrutinizes him then breaks out into an unattractive snorting guffaw. 

“Oh my God, you are the strangest human being I have ever met in my life,” she chortles. After a minute, she wipes a tear from her eye and continues. “Cas, honey, you can’t just say things like that, you might give someone a stroke. And I hope you didn’t get anything on my tables.”

“God, Amy no! I wouldn’t do that. I’m taking him back to my place so don’t even worry,” Dean blurts. Castiel looks at him in shock. Back to his place? Dean’s place?

“Am I staying another night Dean?” Castiel asks cautiously. He knows he’s treading dangerous ground here; his relationship with Meg ended on a scrabble started by living arrangements. Castiel was broke, but Meg was destitute. She was turning tricks while they were together, even though Castiel had insisted he pick up a second job. He forces his thoughts away from her and focuses back on Dean.

“Yeah dude. I mean, only if you want to.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and looks at the table. Amelia shuffles on her feet awkwardly.

“Well, it seems I’m becoming the third wheel. I’ll help you two load up your car if you’d like.” Amelia doesn’t wait for an answer and pushes out a flat holding twenty bags of coffee. When she’s out the door, Castiel shoves himself off of the chair and lends Dean a hand. When they’re both up, they stare into each other’s eyes and giggle senselessly. They finally compose themselves after several minutes and walk outside hand-in-hand to assist the woman.

Amy slams the trunk door closed and turns to the men. She glares at them silently for a few moments, then sighs and rubs a hand over her face.

“You two dumbasses do know you owe me big for packing about sixty pounds of coffee into your shitty car,” she growls. Looking between the two of them, she reminds Castiel severally of Anna during his years in high school. He smiles down at her and tucks a strand of her dark, curly hair behind her ear.

“I’ll give you the first book off of the printer, Amelia,” Castiel promises. He then proceeds to do something very unlike himself and bends to kiss her cheek. When he straightens, she’s looking at him with a confused expression and a mild flush coloring her face. “We’ll come by to help you sometime next week, how about that?”

Dean looks to Castiel like he’s forcing him to chop his arm off. Castiel shoots him a glare that suggests he keeps his mouth shut if he wants to put it on Castiel’s body. Dean sighs and looks to Amelia gently.

“Yeah, we’ll help. And by we, Cas is doing all the work.” He walks around the car and plops into the driver’s seat. Castiel stares after him; he’s being impolite and if Castiel can tell, then he’s _so_ going to get it. Castiel leans in to hug Amy.

“I’ll come by on Tuesday,” Castiel says. He reaches for the pack encompassing Amelia’s waist and grabs a notepad and pen. He puts his phone number on it, tears off the sheet, and sticks it to her forehead. “If you need anything, anything at all, you can call me anytime.” He says. Castiel winks at the woman then walks around the car to open the passenger door.

“You better be here! Ten o’clock, no later!” Amelia shouts after him. He grins then steps into the car. Dean turns the ignition and pulls away from the curb. The two drive back to Dean’s house in tired silence. 


	4. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets Jess, Sam's fiancé to be married in seven months. Dean and Castiel experiment a little and Castiel furthers contact with his estranged family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is later then promised due to an erratic scheduling conflict at Starbucks. Chapter five will be up within the coming week.

When they finally arrive at the Winchester mansion, Castiel is dreaming in the passenger seat as he snores the morning away. He’s jolted awake when Dean pulls the Yugo into his garage and walks around to open Castiel’s door. Dean reaches his arms in a cradle around Castiel and gently lifts him out of the car. He stumbles alongside Dean as they make way for the main door. Once inside, Dean leans down to pick up Castiel bridal style and carries him up the stairs. He plops the other man onto his bed and unties his shoes. He pulls them off and leans up to give Castiel a kiss on his temple before tucking the blankets around him.

Castiel curls into the blanket and naps for about two hours. He wakes slowly and lazily makes his way out of bed. He checks the clock above Dean’s bathroom; it shows that it’s nearly one. He walks downstairs to be welcomed by the sight of Dean and a pretty blonde woman playing Halo. Going off of the curses flying off Dean’s lips, the woman is winning. Castiel walks into the room and perches himself next to Dean on the couch. Dean’s too invested in losing to notice so Castiel just sits and watches it progress. As it turns out, the woman is quite skilled at the game, beating Castiel’s all-time record kill streak by about forty. When Dean loses, he lets out a long ‘fuuuuck’ and pulls his wallet out to give her a fifty. She pockets the money and sneers at the man. She looks over his shoulder and directly at Castiel.

“Hey, when did you get here?” she asks, scrutinizing him like he’s an intruder. Dean looks to Castiel and nearly jumps out of his seat. Really, Castiel hadn’t been that sneaky. He walked in front of them for God’s sake.           

“About twenty minutes ago,” he replies scathingly. He doesn’t like being subject to predatory glares, let alone glares from people more skilled than him in the art of simulated alien warfare. She levels him up and seems to release some tension when Dean wraps an arm around him and kisses his cheek.           

“This is Cas. He’s my, uh, well Mom’s publishing his work.” Dean looks from the woman to Castiel, as if he’s willing them to become friends. Evidently, she takes the cue and leans over to hug him. He stiffens for a moment, then gingerly returns the embrace.

“I’m Jess, Sam’s fiancé and Dean’s future sister. Would you like to play Halo with me? First games free, but I start at twenty afterwards,” she offers. She develops Sam’s puppy eyes while waiting for his response. Luckily, Castiel knows how to handle those looks after living with Gabriel for so long.

“No thanks. I like keeping my money,” he replies. Jess pouts and releases her hold on him. He retreats back into Dean’s outstretched arm and pulls his knees to his chest.

“Fine, but next time I’m bringing Black Ops and you’re my first challenge.” She gets up and removes the game from the Xbox hidden in a cupboard beside the enormous television. She moves to replace it with a movie, but turns to the two of them before she does so.

“Would you like to watch _Finding Nemo_? Did I hear that, because I completely agree with that decision,” she announces. Dean just laughs, as though it’s a normal thing to have a woman this robustly natural at communication in his house. Well, he supposes it should be. This _is_ the woman who’ll be married to his brother.

“Yeah Jess. That’s fine, everyone agrees with that suggestion.” Dean sighs as the woman fiddles with the DVD player. He looks back to Castiel and smiles.

“Is this really the woman Sam’s marrying?” Castiel whispers. He's in awe at the fact that Dean’s mild-mannered brother went for someone so... rowdy and quirky. He watches as she jumps belly first onto the beanbag in the corner, giving the two a good amount of space.

“Yeah Cas, and she’s wonderful. You just need to get to know her better,” Dean replies. Jess takes the light remote and shuts them off, shrouding them in a blanketing shade. She takes the DVD remote and starts the movie.

“I’ll try, Dean,” he mutters. Dean pulls him in close and tucks Castiel’s head under his chin. They watch as Nemo gets caught by the diver and taken from his home. About half way through the movie, Castiel scoots until he is straddling Dean’s hips. He leans forward on his knees until he finds Dean’s nose is touching his lips and they both giggle. Dean places his hands on Castiel’s ass and rubs little circles with his fingers. Castiel let’s loose a monstrous moan and bucks into Dean’s chest. All of the sudden, pillows are bombarding the two of them and Jess turns the lights back on.

“If you two want to skip movie night and grope each other like sixteen-year-olds, by all means do so. Just go to your fucking room,” Jess yells. She turns the television’s volume up and broods at the screen. “During _Finding Nemo_ , really?”

Castiel extracts himself from Dean’s albeit arousing touches and stumbles to the winding stairs. Dean follows suit, but not before responding to Jess.

“Sorry, Jess. Just think of it as payback for Tarantino night last week.” Dean leaves Jess floundering for words in the living room and walks to Castiel. He slaps his ass lightly and leans to his ear. “Come on, baby. I have an idea.”

Castiel practically flies up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Dean, who looks equally as eager, takes his time. When Castiel gets to Dean’s room he strips himself of all of his borrowed clothes and spreads himself across Dean’s bed. He only waits about thirty seconds before a flustered Winchester is staring from the doorway, his lips slightly parted in a gasp.

“Fuck Cas, you shouldn’t be allowed to do that,” Dean breathes. He slowly peels off his jeans and briefs, cock bobbing in midair with anticipation. He moves to remove his shirt, revealing a lean, muscular torso. He tosses it behind him and tackles Castiel into the mattress, smothering him in open-mouthed kisses. Dean’s hipbone connects with Castiel’s cock and he hisses at the contact, thrusting to meet the friction.

“God Dean, more... _yes_!” Castiel pants as Dean aligns their lengths and roughly grinds his hips down. He wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and pulls against the other man’s pushes. Just before Castiel spills over the edge, Dean removes his body from Castiel’s and grins sadistically at him. Castiel can’t help the small, selfish whine that slips out of his throat. Dean presses a kiss to his shoulder and shifts to reach for his nightstand. He returns with a tube and hands it to Castiel.

“Only if you want to Cas,” he murmurs, brushing his lips along Castiel’s collarbone. Castiel shivers, then stills at the sudden realization. Oh, it’s lube. Castiel chuckles and pulls Dean towards his lips and gives him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He slides against Dean’s stubbly cheek and grins against it.

“Just what are you asking Dean?” he purrs, wrapping a hand around Dean’s deflating erection. He pumps it a couple of times then releases it with a pat. “Do you want me inside you?”

Castiel’s rewarded with heat hitting his face where he’s touching Dean. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls back, scanning the other man’s beautiful, mossy eyes. Dean looks down to their hands, then back to Castiel’s eyes, and back down again in an endless cycle. Finally, he sighs and answers.

“Yeah, Cas. I do,” he mumbles. Castiel smiles and looks over the stiffness in Dean’s shoulders. He’s oddly tense for someone who was just grinding into another man so hard he’d almost blown a gasket. His second realization hits him.

“Dean, have you ever done this before?” Castiel doesn’t want to hurt him at all if he says no. He wants to take his time, to let this man explore the greatness that is anal. Dean looks into his eyes and gives a quick shake to his head.

“All right, that’s fine. Lay down on your back and spread your legs a bit,” he instructs, popping the cap of the bottle. He thoroughly coats his fingers and turns his attention back to Dean. The man’s quite a sight; his bowed legs are parted and slightly bent at the knee, his back slightly arched in nervousness, and his head crooked to observe what Castiel is going to do. It’s enough to send the majority of the blood in Castiel’s body straight to his cock. He mentally steels himself and rocks back on his haunches. Looking at Dean, he brings his hand just over his opening.

“Dean, I’m about to go in. Tell me if it hurts or if you’re uncomfortable,” he says as he pushes his index finger into the tight ring of muscle. Dean’s body automatically reacts, jumping at the sudden intrusion. Castiel strokes a soothing hand over Dean’s stomach and leans in to kiss the insides of his thighs. Slowly, Dean adjusts and pushes back onto Castiel’s finger. So, he adds another and circles them. After a minute, his fingers run over a little bump and Dean’s back goes rigid as he hisses in a breath. Castiel pauses, listening to Dean’s panting and willing himself to stay clear headed.

“Cas, what the hell was that?!” Dean wheezes out, still having to catch his breath. He grinds onto Castiel’s fingers, searching for a replay of whatever just happened. Castiel giggles at his ignorance, then catches himself when he spots Dean’s glare.

“That’s your prostate.” He circles his fingers again, scissoring them lightly over the bump again. Dean lets out a resounding moan, his hands knotting in the sheets. Castiel smiles and prods the spot until he has Dean writhing beneath him. After a few minutes, after he’s stretched and ready, Castiel hovers over Dean.

“Hey do you, um, have anything?” he asks, hoping Dean can point him toward a condom. Dean chuckles and looks to the drawer where he retrieved the lube. Castiel goes to retrieve one and tears open the crinkly wrapping. Taking it, he rolls it on and coats it in a layer of the lube and positions himself right outside of Dean’s hole.

“You’re sure about this?” Castiel pulls away slightly, waiting to hear Dean’s answer. When Dean puts his legs around Castiel’s hips and tugs him flush against him, he takes that as his answer. Slowly, Castiel guides himself into Dean. When Dean hisses in pain, he stops and looks to his face.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Uh... do you want me out? Are you okay?” Castiel is freaking out. He pats Dean on his stomach, his shoulders, and his head. He doesn’t move too much at the risk that he could cause Dean further pain. A moment later, Dean’s face relaxes into mild discomfort, squirming a little to adjust to the sudden invasion.

“I’m okay, just give me a minute,” Dean huffs. He spreads his legs a bit more and angles his hips upwards. He circles them once, then twice, and hits a spot that leaves him breathless. Once his eyes refocus, he continues. “Cas, now... more,” he pants.

Castiel slowly slides out and pushes back into the tight rings of muscle, angling his thrusts so Dean enjoys it as much as he does. Gradually, he picks up tempo, pounding into Dean relentlessly until both men are screaming for release. Castiel grips Dean’s cock and pumps it in time with each desperate thrust. He changes his angle just slightly, and Dean mouth makes a perfect ‘o’ as he lets out an unadultured wail, fingers clawing at Castiel’s shoulders as he rides out his orgasm, painting streaks of white across his stomach. Castiel stutters as Dean clenches around him, taking only one more draw in before he’s coming. He lets out a breathless gasp and collapses upon the other man.

“Cas, not for nothing, but that was awesome,” Dean mumbles, his voice muffled by Castiel’s neck. He rolls so they’re lying face to face on the heavily cushioned bed. Castiel tucks himself into Dean’s side, taking in all of the man’s warmth. He grins and brings his lips to his shoulder.

“Dean, I really like your butt,” Castiel whispers, giggling up a storm. Dean snorts and pulls Castiel’s hands to his chest. He turns his head so he can brush his lips along Castiel’s eyelids.

“For a writer, you’re not very verbose y’know,” Dean rumbles. He slides a leg between Castiels’ and sighs when Castiel wraps them around it. Castiel paints invisible lines along Dean’s collarbone as he answers.

“I am extremely verbose. You on the other hand only seem to know the words ‘more’, ‘oh god’, and ‘fuck’.” Castiel stares into the other man’s eyes and releases a sarcastic smirk. Dean blinks and slowly raises his eyebrows. He lets out an obnoxious chortle that reverberates through Castiel’s body.

“If I recall a second ago, you forgot your whole damn vocabulary in favor of those words,” Dean chuckles, leaning over Castiel to grab a couple of tissues from the nightstand. He attempts to clean the two of them up, but it’s shortly lived when he realizes how sticky they both are. He sighs and stands, dragging Castiel with him.

“I need a shower, and you’ve got come on your hip,” he says, pulling Castiel into a large bathroom. The shower alone is bigger than Castiel’s bedroom and he’s so in awe at the amount of money this must’ve cost that he can’t help the gasp that escapes his lungs. Dean grins behind him and releases his hold on Castiel to turn on the shower faucet. He runs to the closet to grab a couple towels and waits for the shower to warm. Castiel awkwardly leans against the sinks, feeling extremely exposed without even his boxers. 

“So, uh, about your brother. When is he marrying the woman?” Castiel asks in a poor attempt to break the silence. His arms lay flat at his sides, unmoving and momentarily useless. He scans the room looking for something of interest to focus on, but really, it’s just a fancy bathroom. When Dean suddenly pokes his nose, Castiel jerks into the wall.

“He’s marrying Jess in May, right after his birthday,” he answers, pausing when he notices Castiel’s discomfort. “Relax dude, I’m not gonna kick you out or anything. I’m not a total dick,” Dean chuckles. He pushes himself off the wall and shuffles to check the water temperature. When he’s satisfied with it, he moves back to Castiel, grabs him by the shoulders, and pushes him in. 

The hot water hits Castiel like lava hitting the ocean. His skin explodes in a map of goose bumps and instinctively he curls into himself. Dean climbs in after him, sliding the curtain shut with an audible _whoosh_. He places his hands atop Castiel’s arms, slowly coaxing him into letting himself get cleaned. Castiel doesn’t tell him it’s his first hot shower in months. He doesn’t tell him how exposed he is in this colossal wet cage. Instead, he leans against Dean and hums his approval.

“There you go, big boy. Just chill, yeah?” He begins rubbing tight circles into Castiel’s scalp, massaging it. Castiel instantly relaxes and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck. He scratches at Dean’s back and is rewarded with a slight purr. The pair just stand like that for a while, absently scratching and scrubbing at each other until they’re all cleaned up.

* * *

* * *

Dean shuts off the water and steps out to retrieve the towels. After a moment, he returns and bundles Castiel up in their soft, velvety embrace. Castiel treads out of the shower in search for a fuzzy sweater. If he’d been at home, he could’ve grabbed the one lying on his toilet, but he’s at Dean’s and he has to make due. He shuffles to the entrance of the massive closet and begins his expedition.

As huge as Dean’s house and room are, you would think there would be at least one ugly sweater. Castiel’s looked everywhere, even in Sam’s room, only to be fruitless in his efforts. He sighs and returns to Dean’s room, where Dean is still dressing for the evening. The man turns his attention from buttoning a plaid shirt to Castiel’s still unclothed form.

“Dude, if you’re still nude when Sammy gets home, please record his reaction,” Dean says, tossing Castiel a pair of blue boxers. “I don’t know what you’re lookin’ for but I’m sure there is something you can wear.”

Castiel drops his towel and pulls on the boxers. He attempts to smooth his hair back and walks back towards Dean’s closet. 

“I don’t understand why would want me to record Sam’s reaction to seeing me naked when you yourself have already seen me several times,” Castiel pauses and turns to face Dean’s expression. “I need a fuzzy sweater, Dean. It is of utmost import.”

He ducks into the room and finds a pair of baggy, holey jeans. He pulls them on and finds Dean has followed him into the room. He’s wearing a sarcastic grin.

“A _fuzzy_ sweater? Really Cas?” he asks, looking at Castiel like he’s suggesting they prance through a field of daisies (or something of the like). Castiel tilts his head in confusion; it’s cold, a fuzzy sweater is the obvious answer. He brings a hand to his face and stares at Dean until he gives him a real answer.

“Cas, c’mon buddy. I haven’t had a fuzzy sweater since I was in grade school.” Dean pushes past him and goes to one of his many drawers. He opens it, scans its contents, then lifts out a black cashmere pullover. Dean walks back to Castiel and drapes it over his shoulders. He glides his hand down Castiel’s ribs and lets them rest at the indents within his hipbones. “It’s not fuzzy but it’s a sweater.” He circles his thumbs over the bone, watching as Castiel lifts it over his head and shoves his arms into the sleeves. 

Dean’s eyes take on that mischievous sparkle again and his hands move lower. And lower. He tugs on Castiel’s borrowed jeans and palms him through the rough fabric. Castiel glances down and pushes his hands away.

“Dean, I’ve just cleaned myself up, and I really need to get a couple things from my apartment,” Castiel asserts. Pulling Dean alongside him, Castiel walks to the nightstand next to Dean’s bed and grabs his keys. He turns back to Dean and plants a quick kiss on his lips.

“I’ll come back if you’d like me to. Just text me your address and I’ll be here by ten tonight,” Castiel presses a deeper kiss to Dean’s lips, savoring their taste. He pulls away and sees the abandonment in Dean’s eyes. “Dean, I promise.”

Dean sighs and clears his throat. He looks at the floor and absently rubs a hand at his neck. Then he meets Castiel’s eyes and lets out a boisterous chuckle, cuffing a hand over the other mans shoulder. When he notices Castiel’s extremely confused expression, he elaborates.

“Dude, this is like friggin' Titanic,” he smirks, raising a brow at Castiel. He’s never seen the entire movie; he thought it was stupid. When Castiel doesn’t get the reference, Dean continues. “It’s a, uh, chick flick man.”

“I am aware of who the film is targeting as its potential audience. What I fail to grasp is how this is like a movie in which the protagonist freezes to death,” Castiel responds, quizzically tilting his head in utter bewilderment. Pop culture references usually went right over his head, at least modern pop culture. He doesn’t know what all the fuss is over the Kardashian family, or what a Bieber is.

“Cas? Yeah, I don’t care about any of that shit. Go on, do what you need to do,” Dean assents, giving Castiel’s shoulder one last squeeze before sliding his hand down Castiel’s arm and around his hand. The two walk like that together down the stairs and out the front door. Castiel trots down the walkway steps to his car parked in front of the garage. He turns to Dean and blows him a kiss.

“See you later! I’ll bring Harry Potter movies and my manuscripts.” Castiel winks and turns to open his car door when he hears Dean call his name. He whips his head back in the direction of the other man. “Yes Dean?” 

Dean sprints down the stairs and plants one on Castiel, tongue and all. Castiel gasps in surprise for a moment, and after a beat enthusiastically returns it. He grabs Dean by his collar and lets his tongue dance with Dean’s; wrapping his leg around the other man’s. A couple jogging by whistles and claps and Castiel breaks off the kiss, blushing with a fervency generally reserved for middle school girls. He giggles and releases Dean, patting him on the ass in the process.

“See ya’ green eyes,” he hums, opening the door. Dean’s cheeks take on a slight tinge of pink as he grins back at Castiel.

“See ya’ blue eyes,” Dean murmurs in reply. He raps his knuckles on the car twice and Castiel waves. He turns the ignition and puts the Yugo in reverse. Backing out of the driveway, Castiel watches as Dean shuffles back to the door and leans against the doorframe. He grins to himself and turns, cruising away from the Winchester mansion.

* * *

* * *

When he arrives at his same old apartment in the same old city, Castiel flops on his disastrous couch and stares up at the ceiling. Ethically speaking, he should stay the hell away from Campbell Publishing’s heir. Physically speaking, the heir is damn hot. Mary wouldn’t mind, he knows that, but the relationship- if he can even call it that- will only be able to survive for so long. His family _is_ posh, but he’s been disowned as a disgrace. Castiel grumbles; thinking about his family always manages to put him in a foul mood. He stands and makes for the kitchen.

Castiel should have thought to buy more food before meeting Mary and son. He’s out of nearly everything, even coffee. He growls and pulls his cell phone out of his borrowed pocket and walks to his bedroom for his laptop. He finds a pizza delivery place and orders; not caring that he’s broke and won’t be able to afford to do laundry for the next two weeks. He sighs and checks his messages, counting a grand total of thirty-two from Mary alone. Castiel reads through each and every single one of them, all regarding his first completed book. Evidently, she loved it. She loved how silly Gavin, inspired by Gabriel, was. She adored the relationship between Macy and Jack, especially pitying both of them when Jack revealed himself to be gay and left Macy lonely and depressed with her millions.

Castiel replies to Mary’s messages slowly, taking his time with an all-encompassing reply. He settles on answering her questions about the book first. Yes, it was really based off of himself and his family. No, he’s not still dating whomever the Macy woman is. Yes, Jack really did starve to death, that wasn’t a cliffhanger because Castiel hates series’. When he’s finished with all of the basic replies, he looks into her more personal emails. She wants to know how he’s doing, specifically how things are economically. He puffs his cheeks and begins typing.

 

 

_I’m economically fine, thank you. If you are truly worried about my funds, much like your son, I would advise you that it’s not your problem and that you need not worry yourself over those matters. While I believe it’s none of your business how I am economically, I am flattered by your concern._

He replies to the remaining questions and opinions Mary has and shuts his laptop. He looks to his clock and finds that it is nearly eight; Naomi should be closing shop. He pushes himself off of his bed and grabs his rumpled blazer strewn across the floor. Sprinting, Castiel pulls out his cell phone and dials for Naomi.

“Are you still open?” he asks as soon as she picks up. The background noise suggests that it’s busy what with the buzz of café chatter and clang of glassware. Naomi huffs out a command to one of her employees, most likely Jo, followed by a quick, feisty retort. She sighs and answers Castiel.

“Yeah we’re still open. Are you busy right now? We need help Cas,” she answers. Not waiting for a response she continues. “Castiel, be here in ten. Sammy’s not doing so well with the coffees and Jo’s threatening a strike. I’ll pay you double.” And she hangs up. Of course she hangs up. Castiel walks back up a flight of stairs to grab his wallet; if Naomi wants him to work on a day off, she’s paying him in cash.

After he’s left the apartment and gotten his car running, Castiel remembers that he should probably call Dean. He digs his hand into his pocket and feels around until he grasps his phone. He slowly dials; trying to recall the number Dean gave him. After several rings, Dean picks up.

“Cas? What’s up?” he asks, sounding out of breath as though he’s just exercised. Castiel taps his fingers on the wheel before continuing. He clears his throat and proceeds.

“Is it really all right if I spend the night?” he asks, blushing even though he knows no one can see him. The tapping grows more fervent, building in tempo. He has to wait a beat before Dean answers.

“It’s fine. Why? Are you worried about something? Cas, I thought I told you it’s no big deal and you’re wanted so don’t even throw that ‘not worth it’ shit at me,” Dean growls, anger percolating through the receiver. Castiel flinches internally, planning a retreat but quickly realizing it’s a problem to even **plan** a retreat. He swallows and answers the man.

“I’m not worried Dean. I’ve just got to work at Naomi’s until closing tonight. I’ll be a little late is all I meant to tell you.” Castiel is pulling into the lot about half a block from the little coffee shop. He turns the key and pulls it out of the ignition. Continuing on his response, Castiel states, “Dean, I’m not planning on throwing any shit, in any sense of the word. If we are to continue to have this relationship, you need to understand that while I don’t have the comfort you have in life I still believe that we are worth the same thing.”

Castiel has to wait a few moments for Dean’s reply. He walks into the café and heads to the break room. When he’s pulling on his apron, Dean seems to have found his voice again.

“I’m gonna come down to Naomi’s. Stay there, Mr. Novak.” The line goes dead with a click. Castiel bristles at the use of the family name. _His_ family name. He pulls his hair into an awkwardly horned mess and stomps out into the floor to help the staff with the crowd. He rubs his eyes and approaches the human giant that is Sam Winchester.

“Hello Sam,” he says in greeting, standing behind the man’s shoulder. Sam jumps a little and slowly turns. Castiel attempts a smile to calm him but it appears to have the opposite effect. He lets it fall of his face and rearranges his features back into their cold, brooding glare. Sam speaks up when he sees the relaxation.

“Hey Castiel,” Sam answers. He looks like he has his hands full with at least nine coffees and Castiel moves to take five of those off of his hands. Sam shoulders his way past him and over to where Jo is preparing muffins and cookies. “Thanks for helping, you can take the coffee now.” He turns just to raise an eyebrow at him and winks. Dammit. Castiel should’ve known better than to sleep with Dean while working with his brother.

“Fine, but just so you know, I’m staying with Dean tonight,” Castiel retorts, letting the smirk bloom on his face with the same level of suggestiveness as Fifty Shades of Grey in a sex toy store. Sam face falls and he turns on his puppy eyes for what he’s about to say.

“Please don’t make too much noise tonight. I don’t like to be scarred for life.” Sam groans and cuffs him on the shoulder. Then, he turns over his shoulder and goes to help Jo. Castiel sighs, smooths down his apron, and finishes the started drinks.

After about an hour and half of work without break, Castiel decides to check his messages. He pulls out his phone and presses the button to check for any notifications. There is only one: another text from Anna. He opens it.

_Cas, I know you’re generally busy (at least I remember you being a busy person) but if you could, meet me at Gabriel’s on Monday. xoxo- Anna_

Castiel snaps the phone shut and stares at a photograph hanging from the wall. Two texts in three days from his long-estranged half sister. He hasn’t spoken with anyone from the ‘new’ family. After _Chuck_ remarried to a woman he’d been having a long term affair with less than two months after Castiel’s mother had died, Castiel had decided to ostracize himself from his father, and in turn anyone connected to the invader. Anna, being the result of Chuck and the invader’s copulations, was number one on Castiel’s ‘to avoid’ list. After a huge blowout with her when she’d graduated high school and decided on attending the same university as him, Castiel had forced himself to forget about the majority of his new ‘family’.

He strides off toward the break room and stuffs the phone into his back pocket. Pushing open the door, he spots Naomi and immediately wants to sprint out of the shop. Forcing on his best poker face, Castiel shuffles into the room and plops himself into one of the plastic chairs. He rubs a hand under his chin and waits for the inevitable flood of questions. Naomi doesn’t surprise him; she starts as soon as he crosses his legs.

“So Castiel, how was the publishing boy?” she asks, her face a mask of disgusting curiosity. Castiel wants nothing more than to stuff himself into the nearest corner and forget about his problems but now he has to face the one who reminds him most of home.

“Dean was perfectly fine. However, what I can’t grasp is how this is any of your business,” Castiel snaps, glaring at the beaten-to-hell mustard yellow flats she’s wearing. Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and straightens up a bit, trying to make himself look oppressive. Naomi doesn’t budge.

“What’s on your mind, bub?” Naomi presses. She scoots her chair closer until the tip of her flat lays beside his converse clad foot. Castiel fiddles with his collar and glances at her from under his lashes. Her wide blue eyes are filled with honest curiosity; her mouth is set in a serious line.

“My sister texted me twice this week,” Castiel replies, a note of disbelief catching at the end of his words. He ignores the shock in Naomi’s face and continues. “She wants to meet on Monday at Gabe’s, but I don’t know what for. Last I heard she was involved in drug cartelling.” He grimaces. He cannot stand his _stepmother_ but Anna.... he would’ve liked her a lot if things were different. He’s spoken to Naomi about this many times. Naomi’s always been nice about it; she’s never laughed at him or condemned his opinion of them. She’s always been a listener, without exception. Even now that’s true.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asks, no threat in her voice. Her eyes are gentle and she takes one of his hands. Castiel glances at it, the image of their hands intertwined in a sort of maternal embrace. Hers are wrinkled but soft, a result of years of hard work. His are strong and sinewy, a result of forced labor and unjust toil. He meets her faded blue eyes and answers.

“I think I’m going to meet her. She didn’t ask for any of the Novak shit. None of us did. Mike’s been beaten into submission, Gabe’s a drunk, I’m.... well you know, and she sure as hell doesn’t need to be screwed up like the rest of us. If she really needs something then I’ll help her with it,” he mumbles. He brings a hand to his brow and rubs little circles into it. After a moment, a pair of steady, warm arms wrap around him and he can’t help the little gasp that escapes his lungs.

“It’s okay bub. Everything will work out.” Naomi pats down his back and squeezes him something akin to a boa constrictor. She rubs in between his shoulder blades, much like she did when he was fresh out of high school. It reminds him eerily of when she was rejected by his own father, when he’d chosen _Claire_ over her. She comforted him until he stopped crying and just held him, like his mother used to do. She pulls away but keeps her hands on his wrists.

“Besides, kiddo, you’ll always have me. And your brother - he really does love you Castiel. So what if Anna wants out? You were never given the choice but I know you would’ve left if you’d stayed a bit. And... thatwoman shouldn’t be allowed near her children. Anna was a sweet girl when she was younger; she reminded me of you actually.” Naomi heaves herself up and puts out a hand for Castiel. “Give her a chance. I’m sure she doesn’t mean any harm,” she mumbles.

He takes her hand and is heaved up. The two walk arm-in-arm out of the break room and onto the floor. Before he goes to work on coffees and drinks, Castiel looks to Naomi and gives her a grin. She returns it, warmth exuding from her very form. She blows him a kiss and heads into her office, probably to check finances. Castiel moves to return to his work when Sam hip-chucks him.

“What the hell?” Castiel asks, looking up at Sam. Sam grabs his shoulders and spins him around so he’s face to face with the green-eyed beauty himself. Castiel drops his hands and his mouth parts with a slight growl.

“What’s wrong?” Dean questions, grabbing Castiel’s face in a jerky grasp. Castiel tries to look down but is forced to meet Dean’s eyes. The pupil’s are dilated and he’s got worry lines. Castiel forces himself free and answers.

“I’ll tell you later. Naomi said I’m free to leave at ten tonight.” Castiel turns back to his work and effectively ignores Dean’s face. A hand wraps around his hip and squeezes. A second hug in five minutes; that’s weird. He tries to cover a small smile that betrays his angry demeanor, but when Dean chuckles, he knows he’s been found out.

“I’ll be at your apartment then. When you’re done, we can take my car back.” Dean pats his ass and walks out of the shop. Castiel sighs and scratches at his what is now the beginning of a beard. It’s good that he’s stopping home before going to Dean’s, he badly needs a shave. And he’ll need a change of clothes, though there is something nearly erotic about wearing Dean’s. The shirt he’s wearing smells of motor oil and the woods and of Dean himself.

Castiel forced his thoughts away from Dean and focused on his work. His impromptu shift passes quickly, what with the unrelenting crowds and only the time for a five-minute break at around nine forty-five. Castiel finishes his last drink, a frou-frou mint tea smoothie, and removes his apron. When he arrives in the break room, Sam is sitting there cleaning out his fingernails.

“So are you coming over tonight?” Sam is curt, feigning disinterest. The twitch on his lip gives him away. The large man is sitting in a childlike fashion: hands fiddling in his lap, feet and knees pressed together. Castiel coughs to hide a laugh at the ridiculously adorable position.

“Yes, Sam. I believe I am,” he replies, chewing his lower lip. He hates having conversations with whomever he’s sleeping with’s siblings. It never goes well. Sam is no exception, though he does seem more approving than the majority of Castiel’s past courters’ brothers. He continues, forcing himself to meet Sam’s innocent gaze. “I won’t do anything rash, Sam. You needn’t worry about your brother with me. It probably sounds like bullshit to you because I’ve heard this plenty of times but I really do like him.”

Sam stops picking at his nails and raises an eyebrow at Castiel’s admission. After a moment’s consideration, he quickly narrows his eyes in what was supposed to be intimidating scrutiny. “Yeah? Well, Dean’s ex liked him a lot too, as did the one before that. And you know what happened Castiel? It went up in flames. All of them. So don’t blame me for being a little suspicious.” Sam stews for a moment, frustration barely held in his gangly limbs.

“Sam, it’ s not that kind of relationship. He’s basically my boss and I’m sure it’s just a mutual friendship of a certain nature,” Castiel says. He’s pulling at straws but coming out with nothing. He walks to the hanger to grab his blazer and buttons it as high as it would go. Retreating into the collar, Castiel makes his exit.

“Don’t hurt him, Cas,” comes the warning reply. Castiel sighs and pushes through the door and out of the café into the foggy San Francisco air.


	5. The Dawnings of a Humble Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean discovers Castiel's talent as an author. The two journey back to the Winchester house, and Castiel finds several surprises prepared just for him. His prospects as an author are looking up, with hopeful news from Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I couldn't post as soon as I expected. School just started and I've got to start my thesis so I've been writing close to three papers daily. The posting should become more scheduled within the next two weeks- I'll shift to posting on Friday night or Saturday afternoon. Also, just a warning, this chapter is like 60% sex.

The mid-November air is frigid, forcing Castiel to brace his collar against the wind. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and sprints for his car, narrowly jumping in before the nighttime freezing rain blows in from the coast. He pulls on the scarf, hat, and mittens he always has lying in the backseat. Castiel rubs his hands together and turns the key into the ignition. He pulls out of the parking lot and heads to his grimy apartment along the pier.

Castiel arrives at the studio shortly; the traffic was unusually mild that night. As he climbs out of the car, he spots the sleek Impala parked along the street about five cars in front of him. A slow smile spreads across his face and he walks into the building. He fiddles with the hole in his pocket as he ascends the eleven stories to his little flat. Dean is waiting for him. Dean wants him at his house. Dean likes him. God, he’s acting like a fucking teenager. Still, Castiel can’t suppress the grin that’s causing little crow's feet to form in the corners of his eyes.

He finally reaches the eleventh floor and strolls to his door. Gingerly, Castiel turns the handle, expecting to wake up from this miraculous dream he’s been living in the past couple days. When he spots a faded leather jacket hanging from the coat rack near the entry way, Castiel shoves the door out of the way and sprints into the living room. Dean is sitting with his legs tucked underneath him, a bundle of papers in his hands. He doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s reading. Castiel approaches him quietly, not wanting to jolt the other man out of his trance. Traces of a smile dance along his lower lip and his eyes are glittering with interest. He’s combed his hair since he stopped into Naomi’s. He’s beautiful, displaying an expression that Castiel has only seen on children reading about their favorite superhero or dragons.

Castiel settles himself on the couch beside him, quietly waiting to be acknowledged. In the meantime, he pulls out his phone to type his reply to Anna.

 _Okay, I’ll meet you. But I’m not lending you any money and I swear to God if you try and get me to return to that wretched house like Michael was last year, you can forget it._  

He only has to wait a moment for the phone to buzz with the reminder that he’s got a text message. He opens it and sees that Anna has no plans to persuade him on returning to the Novak household nor does she care for the Novak or her mother's: the Milton household. She’s rebelling, just like Castiel did when he was twenty-three. He’s jerked from his thoughts when Dean leans over and nibbles at his neck.

“What the... Dean? I thought you were reading,” Castiel sighs. Dean leans away from Castiel and his eyes open wide. The most childlike expression he’s ever seen on a grown man makes its home on Dean’s face. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Dean takes his phone out of his hands and gives him the papers now bundled on his lap. Castiel reads a little bit and his eyes grow at the recognition.

_And I was kicked out, of course. It was well deserved, given the waterspout of honesty my mouth turned into. The wretched house with its wretched inhabitants on its wretched posh street- it was all so ridiculous. Just as my wife slowly lost her mind in the clutches of its conformity and empty promises, so have I. Old man Charles and his ignorant following would have had us hanged were it not for his damned reputation._

Dean was reading his book. He was reading his book _and_ making those faces at it. Castiel glances at Dean’s face and doesn’t miss the glint in his eye. Dean likes it, no; he looks like he _loves_ it. Castiel jumps Dean and pushes his lips against Dean’s with a determination he generally reserves for being an asshat to customers. Dean makes a surprised little noise in the back of his throat and kisses back, his hands winding into Castiel’s hair. Castiel pulls away and leans over to Dean’s ear.

“Do you like my stories, Dean?” he purrs, rewarded with a slight shiver from the other man. He kisses down his jaw and sucks a bruise into his neck. Dean moans a little and Castiel pulls away; it’s too early to do anything in his apartment.

“It’s good Cas. It’s really good.” Dean drags his hands out of Castiel’s hair and wraps them around his neck. He tugs on Castiel and their noses collide. Castiel snorts and pulls away, rubbing at the red blooming where he was hit. Dean smirks in sly bemusement.

“Good. I’m glad you like it,” Castiel pauses and pushes himself up off the couch. “I need to clean up and grab a couple things. Then we can leave for your house, okay?” Dean nods and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Castiel winks and walks to his bedroom. After scanning the room over, he locates his old canvas backpack. Then, he turns his attention to the near mountainous piles of laundry cluttering his room. He hastily grabs three pairs of jeans and stuffs them into the bag. Laying on his bed is the Beatles shirt he stole from Balthazar a couple months back, a couple of stained button ups, and several colorful V-necks. He stuffs half of the items into the remaining space in the bag and flings it over his shoulder. He walks back out to Dean who has picked up _A Silent Scream_ from where Castiel tossed it and has that same amazed look on his face.

“Dean, can I shower at your house in the morning? I don’t want to right now,” Castiel mumbles, holding out a hand for the other man. Dean takes it and heaves himself up. He looks over Castiel’s shoulder, then spins him around so he can unzip the bag. 

“What are you doing?” Castiel flails a little; he’s not used to being manhandled. Dean brushes his hands down his arms and Castiel instantly calms down. He hears the rustle of papers as Dean places the book into his bag. Dean tickles at his ribs for a moment before he releases Castiel.

“Yeah, Cas. You can clean up at my house,” Dean turns Castiel around and chastely kisses him. His lips move fluidly against Castiel’s; their smoothness starkly contrasting the perpetual chapped state Castiel’s are in. Dean strokes his hands down Castiel’s chest and breaks their kiss. “We should get going, the trains don’t run this late so it’ll take about two hours to get there.”

Castiel tosses his belongings into the trunk of the Impala and strides to the passenger door. Dean slams the trunk shut and climbs in, Castiel following his example rather quickly. He starts the car and ACDC blasts from the speakers. Castiel cringes a bit in his seat and moves to turn down the radio. Dean smacks his hand away and shoots him a withering glare.

“Dean, it’s loud,” Castiel mutters, crossing his arms in a petulant pout. He likes big balls as much as any healthy homosexual man, but he doesn’t need to be slammed into his seat by Bon Scott’s insistence that his are the largest. He glares at Dean until the other man cranks it down a notch.

“Rule one about datin’ me, Cas: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his pie hole.” Dean beams at him and focuses back on the road, occasionally humming to the music. He seems to be rather calm about the notion of him and Castiel dating. Are they dating? They hadn’t even gotten dinner together or anything; just bumped naughty bits a couple of times. Castiel fiddles and squirms in his seat until Dean shuts the radio off all together and glances at him. 

“Cas, why are you so damn antsy?” Dean stares at him expectantly until Castiel starts to worry if they’re going to fly off the edge of the narrow mountain road. Dean sighs and focuses his attention back to where it’s supposed to be. Castiel exhales to calm himself before answering his question.

“Dean, are we dating?” Castiel is being timid. He can already feel himself steeling for the inevitable rejection. He’s wringing out the seatbelt for God’s sake. He sulks in his thoughts, creating different scenarios where Dean could destroy his reputation with publishing companies for sleeping with him. He holds a lot of power over Castiel, and that is absolutely terrifying after knowing someone for but two short days. He hears Dean inhale and braces himself for his answer.         

“I’d like to, y’know, if you don’t mind. I, uh, mean we should go out or something first to say we’re dating,” Dean replies. He coughs to hide his nervousness and ducks his head to conceal the blush that is creeping up his neck. Castiel reigns in a chuckle and lays a hand onto Dean’s thigh.

“I’d like that, Dean.” Castiel answers. A grin blossoms on his face and he doesn’t even try to hide it. He looks over to Dean to find him in a similar state. Castiel moves his hand from the other man’s thigh to gingerly hold his hand in a light grip. Dean looks down to them and intertwines his fingers within Castiels’.

The music is background noise for the duration of their journey to Dean’s house. The California landscape passes by with trees, mountains, and the occasional sparkle of the Pacific. Castiel dozes off at some point; he conjures up wild ideas for what he could do with Dean on a date, mostly involving tons of sex and himself reading Vonnegut to Dean under the blanketing sunset on a beach.

Castiel is jerked from his daze when someone prods him in the gut. He cracks open his eyes and glares at the perpetrator. Blond hair tickles his chin and he is greeted with an eyeful of Jess in Smurf-themed pajamas. She smiles when he glares at her and shoulders her away so he can sleep. The prodding gets worse.

“C’mon Castiel, get up. Don’t you want to sleep with six feet of hot freckled Winchester?” When Castiel grunts and mumbles for her to go away, she uses further ammunition. “Castiel, I happen to know that Dean has a pair of lacey pink panties in his possession. If you’d get up, I’ll tell you where they are.” And with a light giggle, she _tap-tap-taps_ away. Castiel wasn’t going to fall for that. He _had_  spotted lacey fabric in Dean’s closet but he’d assumed they were trophies from past one-night stands or that he'd accidentally taken Jess' laundry. Curiosity getting the better of him, he sighs and forces himself out of the Impala and through the open garage. He walks into the Winchester home and is welcomed by a large golden retriever tackling him into the wall.

“Euuuugh,” Castiel groans under a mouthful of fur. He hears footsteps pounding towards him and the great slobbering weight is lifted off him. Sam grips him by the underarms and heaves him up. Castiel brushes the loose fur off of his jeans and seethes silently. He doesn’t like dogs; he’s always preferred cats for their quietness. 

“Where’s Dean?” Castiel asks, turning his attention away from the ungodly amount of animal dander coating him. Sam smirks and takes Castiel’s hand. Jess winks and strides back around the corner into her and Sam’s bedroom. He focuses back onto Sam. “Where are we going?” 

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Cas. Shut up for a sec,” Sam orders, pulling him up the winding staircase. When they reach the top, Sam pulls a bandana from his pocket and brings it near Castiel’s face. “What they fuck are you doing, Sam?” Castiel attempt to duck away from him but gargantuan arms encompass him. Sam wraps the bandana around his head and over his eyes.

“Sam, this isn’t funny,” Castiel growls, trying to blink away the makeshift blindfold. It fails, and Castiel is shoved into a large open space. He feels hands behind his head untying the bandana and it falls. Castiel gasps a little at the image before him. He is in one of the guest rooms of the house; a large olive green room with the same molding Dean's bedroom sports. The floors are a pretty bamboo looking wood. Sitting in the middle of the enclosure is a simple mahogany desk with two chairs positioned side by side. Atop the table rests a vintage typewriter; the kind Castiel has always wished he had.

He looks behind him to see Sam grin from ear to ear. Castiel approaches the man and stares up at him in total disbelief. “How did you know?” he asks.

Just then, Jess walks in with the little notebook he usually keeps in his jeans.... that he left on Dean’s floor this morning. She must’ve done the laundry and found it. And read it. He flashes her his most Rottweiler-like look and she grins deviously. Damn. Jess was ‘reading his diary’, as the elementary student would say.

“Sam and I went to Mary’s and brought this old thing over. Figured if you’d like, you can write here. Makes for pretty easy editing.” Jess slinks up to him and envelopes him into a warm hug. Castiel stills, and then slowly brings a hand to rest between her shoulder blades. She looks up at him and pecks him on the cheek. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks Jess. And thanks, Sam. This is really... awesome,” Castiel disentangles himself from Jess and blankets himself around Sam in a bearhug. The other man tries to pull away, giggling, but gently he ruffles Castiel’s hair. Sam pushes him off and shoots him a wink.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Oh! Dean’s got a surprise for you too, but it’s gonna look stupid compared to ours.” Sam waves goodbye and strides out of the room, swinging his hips slightly as he goes. Castiel moves for the typewriter and strokes a hand over the shining keys. It’s old; the model is at least as early as 1950. It would be worth hundreds had the Winchester’s decided to sell it. He sets himself on one of the chairs and plugs a crisp white sheet of paper into the machine. Testing out the functionality of the keys, he writes.

_And so it shall be, that the Novak’s third child fall for another man’s brother. His gigantor shoulders and moose-like appearance bring my manhood alive. Dean will never know the joy that is fine Castiel ass; I shall save myself for the younger Winchester._

He chuckles to himself and leaves the paper into the machine, if for no other reason than to pay Jess back for reading his journal. Castiel pulls away from his chair and nearly tackles Dean as he walks out of the room.

“I’m, er, sorry?” Castiel flounders, his hands moving every which way. They finally come to a stop on the other man’s barrel chest. Dean glances down at his hands a little sheepishly, pulling them into his own; he leans to kiss the knuckles before taking Castiel by the elbow and hauling him down the hall and to his room.

“Could you, uh, look the other way for a second?” Dean asks. He takes Castiel’s silent staring as assent and uses a feather light touch on his waist to twirl him in a complete one-eighty. He sighs, tired of being manhandled this much in the matter of fifteen minutes. Castiel impatiently taps his foot to the beat of a Strokes song and crosses his arms as he waits.

After a moment, a warm weight settles on his shoulders and Castiel rotates back so he’s facing Dean’s bedroom. His jaw drops with a tight little pop and he gapes in awe at the sight before him. Upon the royal blue walls hung dozens of twinkling yellow lights. Lanterns are taped at intervals across the ceiling, adorned in Japanese cherry blossoms. It’s a truly spectacular image.

“Dean, did you do all this for me?” Dean looks to his toes and goes a little red in the face for a moment, then he’s back to business. He takes Castiel by the upper arms and drags him to the luxurious bed they’d laid in only hours ago. Castiel feels the back of his knees wisp against the soft comforter, and he leans back.

“You didn’t have to,” Castiel whispers along Dean’s jaw. He enjoys the feel of his stubble bumping against the other man’s; it’s grounding, real. Castiel sighs against his neck and watches as the shivers transform his skin into gooseflesh. Dean moans a little in the back of his throat and pulls Castiel’s face so they’re pressed nose-to-nose.

“I wanted to, angel face.” Dean closes those last few inches and chastely kisses Castiel. It’s a soft kiss, no hidden desires, and no burning arousal. Well, there’s some arousal, but Dean is an attractive man. Castiel pulls away and runs his fingertips along Dean’s freckles. “Dean, I’d really like you inside me,” Castiel hums.

Dean’s eyes bulge at the suggestion completely unconcealed in Castiel’s statement. He drops his hands from Castiel’s shoulders and rubs them along his legs. Castiel pushes them away and gets up to pace the room. He can feel Dean’s inquisitive eyes on him, urging him back into his arms where he sits on the bed. He pauses when he reaches the window and turns to face Dean.

“I would like it to be special. Not just mindless groping and prodding,” Castiel says. He tilts his head in consideration for a moment before he continues. “Dean, I have a weird question for you.”

Dean squints at him and heaves a sigh. Before he answers, he rubs along the crotch of his jeans to calm his growing hardness. Castiel rushes to him and pulls his arms away. “Don’t do that just yet. My question is whether or not you’re opposed to role play.” Castiel shifts awkwardly on his feet, realizing how strange the request must sound.

Evidently, he has no reason to fear as Dean quickly jumps forward and yanks Castiel between his legs. His hot breath is in Castiel’s ear in seconds. “You’re a dirty boy, Castiel.” Dean growls into Castiel’s ear as he leans forward, teasing Castiel through his jeans. “I might have to teach you how to behave.”

“But Dean, I don’t understand. What have I done to be dirty? You witnessed me showering, Dean. You washed my hair. I am a clean boy. Very clean. And for that matter, I am no longer a child as I am a twenty-nine year old man.” Castiel bucks into Dean’s touch regardless of the jibber-jabber spouting from his mouth. Oh, _he’s_ an idiot. He quickly corrects his slip-up by continuing. “However, if you want dirty, I am more than happy to oblige.” Castiel pulls away from the other man and loosens his tie, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s.

Slowly, deliberately, Castiel unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders. He sees Dean swallow and his eyes darken. Castiel smirks a little and continues with his strip tease, removing everything but his boxer-briefs and his navy scarf. He slinks up to the man and pushes off his blazer, commemorating the little shiver Dean displays. His eyes blaze as he observes Dean’s form. The man’s hair is mussed from where Castiel’s fingers tangled it into odd shapes. His Armani shirt wrinkled is from where Castiel tugged at it. The faint outline of his erection pressed against his jeans. But best of all were his eyes; the green was nearly engulfed by his dark arousal.

Dean whimpers a little, though he’ll never admit it, when Castiel tears his clothes off piece by piece. When Dean’s good and naked, Castiel dives in once more, mouthing at his nipple. Dean moans and bucks into Castiel, but Castiel grips his hips and forces him to stay still. 

“Not yet, big boy.” He turns his attention back to the reddened notch and grazes his teeth across the bump. Once it’s good and puckered and Dean's moaning loud enough to permanently scar Sam and Jess, Castiel moves downward, peppering Dean’s skin with wet kisses and gentle bites. A light dusting of hair brushes Castiel’s chin and he turns his attention to Dean’s hipbones. He kisses them modestly and sucks little bruises into them.

He looks back to Dean to see how he’s holding up; what he observes is marvelous. His normally tanned face has taken on a pinkish hue from the effort of holding back. His hair has grown mussed from his writhing, pulling every which way as though it developed a will of its own. A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin.

Castiel stands and gives Dean a peck on the cheek. “You’re very handsome,” he whispers against his skin. Dean shivers a little, but holds his own. Castiel smirks and rocks back down onto his knees. Dean’s hardness bounces in anticipation as Castiel clutches it. Dean groans a little when Castiel slides it from tip to base, thumbing along the jutting vein underneath. He runs his hand down the shaft once more and presses his lips against the leaking head, sneaking his tongue out to prod at the slit. Dean’s knees buckle slightly and he struggles to stay still.

“Please, Cas... more,” he whimpers, thrusting minutely. Castiel pulls his lips away and tweaks hard at one of Dean’s nipples. He glances up and arranges a frown atop his face. “There will be more if you wait. If you don’t, there won’t be any.” Castiel waits until the other man calms beneath his hands before taking his cock in his mouth completely. He bobs his head up and down, swallowing all he can of Dean. After a few moments, he releases his hold on Dean and removes his mouth from his member with a wet pop.

He stands and grabs Dean, urging him up the bed so his feet no longer hang off the edge. Dean obliges and scoots up; opening his legs slightly so Castiel can rest between them. Once they’re all settled, Castiel takes one of Dean’s hands and sticks it into his mouth, coating them in a think layer of saliva. Drawing the man’s hand down his body, he brings it to rest just above his entrance. Dean looks at him questioningly.

“Yes, Dean. Touch me,” Castiel mumbles. He pulls himself further up Dean and encourages the man by grinding onto his spit-sleek hand. Dean takes the hint and pushes his index finger against the tight opening, breached the first ring of muscle. Castiel circles his hips to adjust to the intrusion, gently unwinding under the other man’s hand. When Dean is able to slide it in and out without any problems, he adds another. The second finger stings a bit and Castiel can’t stop the hiss that flies off his tongue. Dean stops moving altogether, a worried expression making it's home on his face. 

“Cas, are you okay?” His brow furrows and he doesn’t budge a muscle. Green eyes monitor Castiel until his face takes on a look of mild discomfort. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just go slowly for a minute,” Castiel replies. He places his hands on either side of Dean’s head to brace himself as Dean’s hand returns motion. He scissors his fingers, slowly, carefully, and waits until Castiel is loosened enough to add a third. He looks at Castiel’s face once more to ascertain whether it’s okay, but quickly changes his mind. Suddenly, his fingers are out of Castiel’s hole and his hands are gripping Castiel by the hips, reversing their positions. Castiel _oofs_ as Dean develops a mischievous look on his face. He sucks a hickey into Castiel’s neck, waiting until he’s writhing beneath him to bite at it slightly. He suckles his way down Castiel’s body until his face is just above his cock. He licks a stripe from the base to the tip, eliciting a deep moan from Castiel.

“No moving, buddy. Remember?” Dean winks and disappears between Castiel’s legs. He bites at the sensitive skin between his thighs, lapping at it soothingly when Castiel twitches. Then, Dean brings his face in closer and closer till his lips touch the skin under his balls. Castiel jumps and grinds into Dean’s face, only to have Dean’s mouth pulled away.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean hums, sending blood rushing to his cock from the vibrations. Castiel stills and waits for Dean to continue. When he does, a tongue lashes out and licks at the puckered skin surrounding his hole. He gasps and moans, but doesn’t move. When it pokes past the loosened muscle and prods along his walls, Castiel’s hips are no longer aware of Dean’s rules and he grinds down to meet Dean. Dean lets it slide, though, and pushes Castiel’s cheeks further apart, thrusting his tongue in deeper and grazing his prostate. Castiel is close, really close, and Dean knows this when he peeks at his gasping mouth, his squeezed-shut eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He removes his mouth from Castiel and climbs along his body to simper at him.

“Get a condom, Dean,” Castiel growls. Dean smirks and crawls over to the nightstand. He returns and hands Castiel the crinkly container. He stares at it and tries to hand it back, but Dean pushes it into his palm insistently. “Put it on for me.” 

Castiel gulps and stares at the man. Dean wiggles his eyebrows and gives Castiel some room. He scoots so he’s sitting on his knees, cock arched against his stomach and curving slightly into his left hip. Castiel tears the wrapping and sits up, holding the rubber between his thumb and index finger.

“Go on, Cas. Just like that,” Dean mumbles. He brings a finger beneath Castiel’s chin and pulls him in for a kiss, tongue dancing along his lower lip. He cracks open his lips and allows the other man’s tongue to meet his. After a moment, Castiel breaks away with a little drool dribbling down his chin. Dean chuckles and swipes a thumb over it as Castiel takes the condom and spreads it between his fingers. He focuses on Dean’s cock and rolls it over the head and up the shaft.

“Lay down on your stomach,” Dean commands, stretching to retrieve the bottle of lube on the nightstand. Castiel complies, laying back and rolling over so his chest is pressed flush against the comforter. He hears a slight pop; a moment later a slick finger his entering him again. He lifts his hips to give Dean better access. Dean notes the movement and reaches over him, behind his head.

“What are you doing?” Castiel cranes his neck to see what’s happening when an arm winds around his waist and lifts him to tuck a pillow beneath his chest. He looks back to Dean and beams.

“You’ll be more comfortable,” Dean mumbles, leaning down to kiss Castiel’s spine. He straightens and picks up the lube. He coats his cock generously and positions himself right above Castiel’s entrance. “We should go out tomorrow,” he whispers before going in. 

Castiel wheezes against the girth of it. He angles his hips higher and pushes his knees further apart to make for less of a sting. Dean slips in further and Castiel bites the corner of the pillow to stifle a groan. Dean pauses when he notices Castiel’s trembling.

“Cas, you gotta tell me if it hurts,” he mutters, pulling out. He grabs Castiel by the hips and flips him over, gently setting his ass onto the bed. He scrutinizes Castiel’s face and notices the moisture beading in his eyes. “C’mon Cas. You can tell me to stop.” He caresses a hand on Castiel’s face and thumbs at his cheekbone.

“It’s fine Dean. Just... we probably needed more lube,” Castiel says once the burn has eased and he has caught his breath. Castiel grabs the bottle and coats his fingers in it, reaching into himself to make sure he’s stretched and slicked. What he thought was loosened muscle turns out to be mildly stretched and it undulates under Castiel’s fingers. When he’s finished, he puts some of the lubricant onto Dean’s fingers and rolls onto his stomach once more.

“I can’t reach all the way and I’ll need you to do the rest, but it’s looser now,” Castiel mutters. Dean smiles and sticks two fingers in, scissoring them until Castiel adjusts. He slips them in further and crooks them up, right into Castiel's prostate.  Castiel jumps at the contact and is rewarded with little kisses peppered onto his cock. Dean adds another finger when he finds that Castiel had further loosened; it slips in easily. He rolls them inside Castiel's hole once more and removes them altogether. "Okay, Dean. You can go in now." Castiel wriggles his hips toward Dean's hardness; he doesn't like the emptiness replacing the pleasure he felt moments ago.

Dean wraps a hand around his cock and guides himself into Castiel's now completely loosened hole. He easily breaches the opening and slips deeply into the man. Castiel raises his hips to facilitate the movement, but the lube is doing its job well. Dean moans as he fully sheaths himself into Castiel. They stay there for a moment, stationary and unmoving. Just calmly observing the feelings overtaking one another. When the pressure becomes too much for either of them, Dean slides himself out until just the tip remains inside of Castiel, and then he slams back into him with enough force to shift the mattress a couple inches forward. Castiel let's out a loud moan when the force hits in just the right spot. Castiel takes a moment to pity Sam and Jess before the next thrust hits him again, only this time it's Dean that's screaming out Castiel's name. He pulls in and out again and again until they're both about to burst. Dean removes himself from Castiel and drops down so he's face to face with Castiel's leaking member.

"Dean, what are you... Oh!" Castiel sighs when wet lips meet his cock. He writhes and tugs the sheets into strange swirling patterns. He looks down to Dean, at his green eyes overtaken by burning arousal and focused on the dusting of hair traveling down Castiel's belly button, his cheeks hollowed out by the presence of Castiel's cock in his mouth, at how damn beautiful he is. Dean pulls away for a moment, but quickly returns his tongue to tease at the head of his erection. The pressure that had been building up in Castiel's cock grows unbearable as Dean's tongue swirls and laps and performs sacrificial magic, it's so damn good. Release comes as Castiel does, pulsing white-hot liquid out of him. Dean holds on as Castiel shoots his load into him; he swallows almost all of it down.

"Dean..." He sighs, his bones adopting the consistency of pudding. He heaves for a few moments, falling out of his orgasmic high. After he’s caught his breath and regained basic mobility, Castiel rotates so he’s crouching on his knees and facing Dean. He ducks in for a kiss, his moistened lips gliding easily with Dean’s. When he pulls away, he shoots a command to Dean.

“Lay down on your back.” Castiel watches as Dean complies, reclining on his haunches onto the pillow. Castiel straightens out Dean’s legs and spreads them a bit. Castiel brings his hands to rest on the insides of his thighs. Pushing them apart slightly, Castiel leans forward until his lips are pressed flush against Dean's tight opening. He tentatively pokes his tongue out to taste the puckered pink skin; it’s soft and bitter.

“Fuck... more, Cas.” Dean squirms on the bed, knotting a hand into Castiel’s hair and tugging. Castiel nudges into the taut rings of muscle lining Dean’s opening. He licks along Dean’s walls, trying to find the little bump that’ll make him scream. Cautiously, he adds his index finger to Dean’s hole and tweaks it in sync with his tongue’s thrusts. He brushes over the bump with his fingertip and feels the other man’s legs cling at his shoulders. Castiel moves his free hand up Dean’s thigh, slowly gliding it over the strong arches of hidden muscles. It lands on the hair just above the base of Dean’s erection. He draws it up his cock and downwards to fondle his balls in tandem with Castiel’s tongue. It doesn’t take long for Dean to come, spraying come onto Castiel’s fist and Dean's belly. His hole clenches around Castiel’s prodding and he shoots his release with a wicked moan.

“Cas... fuck,” Dean wheezes, arms working to bring Castiel to rest on his chest. The motion of his breathing rocks Castiel up and down, slowly getting smaller and smaller until the slight rustling of his hair is the only indication of his exhalation. Castiel peers up at Dean through hooded lids and finds Dean’s face in a state of complete contentment. He brushes a hand from his hairline down his cheek and gently strokes little imperceptible lines onto his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into Dean’s collarbone. Dean peeks down at him and winks with the traces of a warm smile pulling at his lips. He pulls his hands up from Castiel’s lower back and winds them around his shoulders. Castiel watches as he leans down, and feels the pressure of his lips connecting with his temple.

“You too, buddy,” Dean whispers into his hair. He leans down to grab the blanket from where it was pushed by their bodies and pulls it snug against the two of them. A lazy “Goodnight, Cas,” comes out of Dean’s lips and the pair dozes off into an easy, restful sleep.

* * *

* * *

The sun is beating through the curtains when Dean comes to. He checks the alarm clock on the nightstand; it’s almost seven. He sighs and attempts to roll out of the bed, only to find that Cas has him pinned in a warm embrace. Dean pokes and prods at him, trying to get him to release his hold, but he only pulls closer.

“Go back to sleep.” Cas puts a leg between his and tugs Dean’s head onto his shoulder. Then, his head lolls back and an enormous snore flows from deep within his chest. He tries to squirm out of the crushing embrace, but is stopped when Cas’ snoring halts and he looks at Dean through bleary eyes.

“It’s seven in the morning on a Sunday, Dean. Please, just fifteen more minutes,” Cas grumbles, pulling the blankets over his head. Dean resigns his struggles and lies silently, waiting for Castiel to wake.

After about fifteen minutes, he disentangles the cocoon Cas has built for himself, gently tugging his arms so he can go to the bathroom. Castiel grunts and rolls over, freeing Dean but not getting out of bed. Dean rubs a hand to his face and climbs out of the sweltering bunk. He grabs a pair of boxers lying forgotten on the floor and scratches at the sticky come clinging to his pubic hair. Blegh, he needs a shower; his shoulders and legs are killing him and he’s coated in a thin layer of dried sweat and spunk.

He wanders to the bathroom and locks the door behind him; he doesn’t want to wake the beast that is probably early morning Cas. He tears the boxers off and turns on the shower’s faucet. As he waits for it to warm, Dean pulls out a toothbrush and scrubs the lingering taste of Cas out of his mouth. He spits and looks in the mirror; he’s got large circles surrounding his eyes, his hair has been molded into a shape resembling Jimmy-fucking-Neutron's, and red splotches and hickeys decorate his neck and right shoulder. Dean exhales and steps into the now steaming shower. He scrubs until his skin is desensitized and colored an alarmingly bright shade of pink and climbs back out.

He walks nude to his room, unsurprised to find Castiel still snoring away on his bed. The blankets slipped when Dean crawled out, revealing the lengthy tanned expanse of Castiel's back and the paler curve of his ass. Cas looks younger as he sleeps, less stressed out. The little crinkle between his eyebrows is more relaxed; it makes him appear vulnerable. His hair is slightly mussed and, like Dean, he’s decorated with hickeys along his spine and inner thighs. Dean approaches the sleeping man and flops beside him onto the large bed.

“Hey, angel. It’s almost eight o’clock. Up and at ‘em, big guy!” Dean pushes sloppy kisses on Cas’ cheeks and neck. His mission to wake him up is successful; Castiel rolls onto his back with a groan and cringes at the sunlight. “That’s good, Cas. We can make coffee if you'd like to.” Cas leans into Dean’s soft touches, shivering at the flutter of his breath skirting beneath his chin. Suddenly, he wrinkles his nose in disgust. He pushes Dean away and scoots so he’s leaning on his elbows.

“Mmkay, Dean. Can I use your toothbrush?” he asks, big blue eyes shining in the morning light. He rubs at them roughly as he awaits Dean’s answer. Dean chuckles and nods, pulling Cas’ hands away from his face. He leans in to give him a peck on the cheek, but the fucker plants one on him, tongue pushing open his lips. He breaks away and glares at Cas until he resigns.

“Cas, you _need_ my toothbrush. And a shower. Badly.” Dean hauls him off the bed and escorts him out of the door. Cas gives him his puppy eyes, and though they are cute, Dean spins him and pushes him toward the agape bathroom door. Cas disappears into the room, slamming the door behind him with greater force than Dean would’ve thought possible of the lean man.

He turns back to his room and sees that his phone is flashing on the nightstand. It beeps impatiently; the sound alert indicates a text. Dean retrieves the device and checks the message and sender. It’s from his mom; it reads, ‘ _Dean! Bring Castiel down to headquarters by eleven. Make sure he looks professional!_ ’

Fuck, that’s a timely warning if he’d ever seen one. Dean groans as he walks into his closet; his mother never has forewarned him about any of the company’s dealings, she only tells him to look pretty. He looks through his multitude of suits and selects his dark gray Tom Ford’s edition Gucci for himself, and a more humble Armani number in deep blue for Cas. He lays them on bed and goes back to search for shirts. After about fifteen minutes, a light knocking on the wall interrupts Dean.

“Why are there two suits? Dean, do you have a fetish I should know about?” Cas asks. Dean glances up and finds him raising a suggestive eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with only a small towel around his waist. At the moment, Dean wants nothing more than to remove it with his teeth. He holds, however, because they have about an hour to dress and eat before driving the two hours to San Francisco, given good traffic conditions. 

“Because you’ve probably got yourself an offer from my company,” Dean answers. He approaches the other man and places his hands upon each of his shoulders. “I need you to pick out a tie and shirt. Make sure they match. I’m going to make some coffee and we’ll head into town for breakfast after that.” Dean gives him a light shove to the colossal wardrobe placed between his two suit closets. Cas puts on his best 'deer in the headlights' expression before turning to the wide array of options for him to choose from. Dean smiles and gives a slight wave as he wanders back into his room to dress.

He’s just pulling the tie around his neck when Castiel springs up at his elbow. Dean jumps with a little yelp and Cas just displays a dopey smile. Fuck his stupid cute face. Dean gestures to the blue suit lying on his bed and wraps an arm around Castiel's shoulders.

"You can borrow this one," Dean says. He quenches a creeping blush down at his curiosity of what Cas looks like in a suit. He sneaks a peeks at Cas' face and does a double take when he sees the other man's hair. "Do you even try to hide your sex hair?"

Castiel ducks his head when Dean brings a hand to muss his hair. His cheeks are slightly reddened when he brings his chin back up. He pokes Dean in the stomach and roughly grabs the pants on lying on the bed, shoving his legs into them. Dean bristles slightly; he paid good money for those. Then, he looks to Cas’ choice of shirt and tie. His selection is not surprising to say the least. Strewn haphazardly across the bench at the foot of Dean’s bed is a velvety red bowtie, suspenders in matching color, and a light blue-gray button up. Cas _did_ mention in passing that he liked Matt Smith’s Doctor the best; it definitely shows.

“Really, Cas? Are the suspenders necessary?” Dean raises an eyebrow as he holds the suspenders in one hand. He is answered with a brooding scowl on Cas’ part and a hand held out for the suspenders in question. Dean places them there and fashions an expression of mock-shock onto his face.

“Yes, they are.” Cas bites back. He buckles them into the waistband of Dean’s trousers and pulls on the shirt before dragging them over his shoulders. He walks over and grabs the bowtie resting on the bench and fiddles with it until he gives up, clearly not having the knowledge to tie it. Dean sighs and twirls him around so they’re nose to nose, and reaches for the loose strip of fabric hanging around his neck. Cas tries to bat his hand away but Dean swats back.

“It’s fine, Cas. You look good.” He gestures to the tie to ensure that it’s okay for him to proceed. When Castiel crosses his arms and harrumphs at the floor, Dean takes that as his answer to tie it for him. He knots it off with a flourish; watching Castiel admire the way it looks.

“Want to be my companion?” Cas chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows as he makes a grab for something behind Dean. He returns with a pen and points it at him, laughing as he does so. Dean grins as he turns away; the fucker likes Doctor Who. Though Dean is partial to Nine, he only has one friend, Charlie, that likes the show. He snorts and slips into his blazer, buttoning the top clasp. He wraps Castiel in the other and takes him by the hand.

“Sure, Cas. I’ll be you’re River,” Dean rejoins, winking. Cas’ lower lip juts out slightly as he considers. Dean continues before the man has time to respond. “We’ve gotta get going, dude. It’s a two hour drive and I’m hungry.”

* * *

* * *

A half hour and a large bag of donuts with two cups of steaming coffee later, Dean and Castiel are on the road to San Francisco. Castiel has eaten more than six donuts in the past ten minutes, adding to Dean’s worries about the man’s eating habits. He’s scarfing them down faster than Dean thought possible, and when Cas grins at him, bits of chocolate make it look like he’s missing several teeth. Dean whistles and turns his attention back to the winding road, the warm hand tangled within his, and the soft murmur of The Animals coming from his radio.

After they pass Palo Alto, and the donut bag has been thoroughly depleted, Cas glides his hand to Dean’s knee, squeezing with awkward tension. Dean looks over and sees the worry painted in his big baby blues, tainting his expression into a pitiful grimace. It reminds Dean of when his father forced Sammy to 'get rid' of the puppy they found on the side of the road in ‘95.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Dean asks, moving a hand under Cas’ chin. He meets Dean’s eyes and chews his lower lip into a red mess.

“I don’t know what to say. At the meeting, that is,” Castiel answers, the squeezing of his hand growing more erratic. “What if I don’t impress them, Dean? I didn’t even graduate, I may not have the qualifications. They may not like my personality, Dean. Dean, I don’t know what to do.” Castiel is hyperventilating. Dean pulls the car over and turns the keys out of the ignition. He looks over to Cas and sees that his head is in his hands and he’s heaving to catch his breath.

“Cas, chill. You’ll be fine. My mom likes you. I obviously like you. The company will definitely like you. So don’t even worry about what to say or who to impress because all you have to do is bring your work to the table.” Dean places his hands on either of Cas’ shoulders. Then, because why the fuck not, he presses a sloppy kiss onto his pretty mouth. Castiel stiffens, then reciprocates with urgency. The slippery weight of his tongue brushes over Dean’s lower lip and he gladly lets it into his mouth. Cas’ hands tangle into his hair, pulling slightly while emanating a miniscule growl from deep within his throat. The sound goes straight to Dean’s cock. He pulls his legs out from beneath the steering wheel and climbs into Cas’ lap. His hardness presses against Dean’s ass; he grinds into its curve and shoves his hands into the tangled sex mop Cas calls hair.

“Mmmm... Dean,” Cas moans into his mouth. He thrusts up into Dean and shudders slightly. Dean grinds down again, his own half-hard erection brushing flush on Cas’ hipbone. A small part of his mind remembers that they are both dressed professionally and he climbs out of Castiel’s lap to strip himself of his trousers and briefs. A quick peek at Cas reveals that he took the hint and is doing the same, removing his blazer as well. As soon as both men are disrobed, Dean tackles Cas so he’s lying in the seat. His head bangs into the window and Castiel winces.

“Let’s go in back, there’s more room,” Dean grunts. He cradles Cas’ head as he pulls him into the backseat bench. Dean rests with his back to the leather and Castiel’s cock resting atop his lower stomach. Cas squirms a little as he settles himself between Dean’s legs and brings his mouth to Dean’s in a wet kiss. Dean lets his mouth be invaded by the other man’s, enjoying the slip and slide of their mingling tongues. Cas jerks slightly as he drives his hips against Dean’s, simultaneously biting Dean’s lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispers, though he doesn’t completely pull away. Dean responds by fisting his hands in the flesh of Cas’ ass and thrusting up in tandem with Castiel’s pushes. The result is excellent; Castiel breaks away with a gasp and pulses his hot seed onto Dean’s lower stomach. He brings a hand down and pumps until Dean is coming with an embarrassingly loud groan. They flop into the seat, shaking with the aftershocks of their orgasms. Cas is the first to become lucid enough and searches for something to clean the two of them off while Dean, trembling Dean, lays panting in the seat.

Cas returns with a travel pack of Kleenex and takes a few out to clean his come off of Dean’s stomach. After a moment, Dean takes the pack out of his hands and swipes the spunk off of Cas. He finishes with a flourish and looks to the other man’s faded denim eyes.

“We should probably get goin’,” he says, grinning. The clock on the dashboard displays that it’s 10:42; they’re not going to make it on time. Fuck it, he got to see Cas’ face lit up by an orgasm and it’s quite the sight. Cas looks equally pleased and grins right back at him.

“Shall we?” the fucker asks, the traces of a smirk dancing in his eyes. He retrieves their discarded clothing from the driver’s seat and plops Dean’s outfit onto his lap.

“Let’s go, angel.”


	6. Creative Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel meet at Campbell Publishing and arrange a contract for Castiel's book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be updating a bit slower from now on, what with work and school (ugh). Thanks to all of you for sticking with my poor grammar and general ineptitude at writing. I hope you like what's been written and what's to come.

When the pair arrives at the Campbell Publishing Co. headquarters, they are nearly fifteen minutes late and very unkempt. Castiel notices little marks on Dean’s jaw that are of similar shape to his mouth. He’s sure Dean has left similar marks on him; he’s even got a bit of Dean’s come sticking to the front of his shirt, but it’s safely hidden beneath the blazer.

Dean parks along the street, double checking if he had locked the doors to his precious Impala, not that Castiel blames him- if he had a beauty like that, he'd figure out a way to constantly have it on his person. The two walk hand in hand into the building, only stopping to greet the receptionist, Dean says she’s called Becky, with warm smiles. They take the elevator to the top floor; Castiel has never felt so important in his life. Dean leads him through a series of hallways. It’s a modern building; the floor is mahogany wood, the walls are a deep shade of eggplant, the ceilings high and illuminated with little golden lights. It’s pretty damn fancy architecture.

Castiel is lead into a large office; scratch that, a conference room. The wall facing seaward isn’t a wall at all but rather a large window. Like the rest of the offices, it’s painted in eggplant and has mahogany wooden floors, but the desk in the center is large. So large, in fact, that whomever decorated the room couldn’t possibly hope to add anything else to the decor. A sweet, bellowing voice interrupts his thoughts and directs his attention to the inhabitants of the room rather than the decor.

“Hello, Dean and Cas! I hope I wasn't too abrupt in asking you to drive all the way here at an early hour,” Mary says. She’s seated at the head of the desk, her feet tucked beneath her to make her presence as leader absolute. He realizes, too late now that he thinks about it, that his hand is still entwined with Dean’s and he quickly lets go, knotting it behind his back with his other hand. Trying to avoid the awkward conversation that he knows is coming, Castiel answers Mary immediately.

“No, Mary. It was no problem whatsoever.” Castiel staggers to the desk and looks to Mary for permission to sit. She waves a hand and he flops into the comfy chair. He notices Dean has followed him, with a fucking smirk on his face, and tucked himself into the chair adjacent him. Castiel mimics the position, folding his feat beneath him and spreading his palms out flat on the wide desk. Mary glances between the two of them and openly smirks.

"I'll bet, Mr. Novak." Castiel can't stop the blush that explodes on his cheeks. He turns to glare at Dean for doing something to alert his mother and finds him in an equally perplexed state. After a moment, Castiel feels himself calm and he takes a deep breath to steady himself before proceeding into the actual discussion.

"I'd like to know why you have summoned Dean and I to your offices," Castiel affirms brusquely, sitting up in his chair. A flash of something dances in Mary's eyes and a warm hand grasps his in a warning clench. Castiel ignores the warnings and persists. "Is it so you could address my relationship with your son or is it to discuss a deal?" Castiel stares unflinchingly at the blonde woman, hearing the surrounding board members guffaw and harrumph derisively. Mary stares right back, eyeing him up in a bizarrely similar way to how he'd seen Jess scrutinize him a day ago.

"A little bit of both, I suppose," she offers. Slowly, intimidatingly, she crosses her lean arms over her chest and her glasses slide down her nose just enough to appear menacing. Castiel internally bristles, anticipating the lecture he will receive as soon as everyone has left but the Winchesters and him. Mary is still scrutinizing him when she continues. "We'd like to draw up a contract sometime within the next few weeks regarding three of your works. If you'd like, we could negotiate for more or less, but it would be most beneficial for all parties if we'd stuck with the median." She appraises him, waiting.

Castiel considers the offer, then sneaks a peek over at Dean when he realizes he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. Dean meets his eyes and plays with his fingers, dodging the question Castiel is trying to ask. He has absolutely no backbone when it comes to matters with his mother. Castiel snatches his hand away and steels himself against Mary’s unrelenting gaze.

“I think I could accept that deal. However, I do have certain terms,” Castiel pauses, mentally drawing up some terms for this agreement. He does want to sound like he has _some_ professionality to him. “Specifically, regarding my monetary benefits, I want eight percent of all royalties.”

Mary eyes him up and down and turns her stare onto Dean. She quirks an eyebrow in his direction, a puny smile playing in her eyes. Shouldn’t she be arranging this with Castiel not in the room? He glances at Dean and finds him red in the face from holding in laughter. Castiel grips the handles of the chair to keep from jumping him.

“What? Is something funny?” Castiel asks, a gruffer edge creeping into his tone. One of the board members glares at him and shuffles his papers obnoxiously. The man stack them into a neat pile and clears his throat noisely.

“This whole situation is funny. Frankly, I think it’s an idiotic decision to publish someone who hasn’t written anything whatsoever. In addition to your inexperience, you have _relations_ ,” the man sneers when he says the word, “with the director’s son. All in all, it’s hasty and illogical to even consider you.”

The man finally finishes his assertion with one final menacing glare in Castiel’s direction. Someone close to Castiel clears their throat loudly and answers the man’s accusations and rebuts his statements.

“His relations to this author are completely separate from this arrangement. While I understand your hesitation in allowing him a chance, as I do feel similarly, who he has sex with or who he chooses to date is none of your god damned business.” Dean unfolds his legs from where they were crossed on the chair and gawks in awe. The bearded man continues. “So I suggest you take your thoughts and cram them back into your other shit spouting hole.”

The room fills with a silence akin to a funeral. No one is brave enough to speak, especially Castiel whose jaw has dropped and stares agape at the entire display. The man who spoke, his name tag reads Robert Singer, crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the man. His face is contorted into an expression of pure irritation. Castiel glances beside him and finds Dean with a pensive look on his face. After a moment, he breaks the silence.

“Bobby’s right; my relationship to Cas is separate from the deal. But if you’re gonna get bent out of shape because of it, I can remove myself from the commissions temporarily,” Dean suggests. Castiel feels all of the blood drain from his face; Dean shouldn’t have to suffer for his book. He interrupts the other man’s hasty decisions with one of his own.

“No, don’t do that! I’m sure we can alleviate worries somehow, isn’t this all in the conditional phase?” Castiel asks, staring pointedly at Mary. She sighs and places a hand on the table, the other is rubbing her brow. She finally meets his eyes and answers.

“You’re all being babies. If you really think I’m not going to publish a talented writer just because of something as silly as who he holds company with, you’re all a bunch of idiots. And that includes the two in question,” She gestures between Castiel and Dean. Dean instinctively grasps for Castiel’s hand, and he graciously takes it. “Cas, you’re coming to lunch with me and Dean. The rest of you, if you’re so irresponsible as to forsake potential millions on the small chance that the public is going to care about the sexuality or partner of the author, then you can just walk out of here right now.” Mary harrumphs.

The man who spoke earlier glares at his laptop. He’s seething at Mary’s words but does nothing to go against her. Castiel smirks in his general direction but is met with a warning squeeze on Dean’s part. Mary concludes her tirade with a dismissal.

“It’s settled that you are all willing to participate in the publishing of this man’s work; I can gather that from your silence. Now if you don’t mind, we can work out the kinks on Wednesday. You are dismissed, except for Dean and Castiel.”

The rooms tenants scramble for their paraphenalia and shuffle towards the exit, the pregnant awkward atmosphere still lingering. Dean subtly scoots his chair closer to his after the judgemental man has left, bearing one last grimace in his direction. He leans his head against Castiel’s shoulder and splays his fingers in his hands.

“It’s all going to work out, Cas. You’ll see,” Dean mutters. Castiel wraps an arm around his back and rubs at the tense spot just below his neck. When Dean relaxes into his touch, Castiel feels his worries slowly melt off his shoulders.

After all of the patrons of the room have left, Mary pushes herself out of her leather chair at the head of the table and walks over so she looms over her son and Castiel. Placing a hand on each of their arms, she asks, “Shall we be off?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean stands, pulling Castiel up with him. Mary leads them out the building and once they reach the busy street, she hails a cab. The three pack in and head off uptown, passing through Castiel’s old street to a more suburban district. They arrive at a quaint restaurant called The Crossroads.

After Dean pays the cabbie and they enter the restaurant, Mary pulls them into a booth tucked in the corner of the room. She nods at the hostess who grabs a notepad and pencil and heads in their direction.

“Hey Mary, Dean. The usual?” The two nod and she glances in Castiel’s direction. “And what can I do for you, buttercup?” She asks, laying a hand on his forearm. He pulls away and places his hands in his lap.

“I’ll have what Dean’s having. And a cup of coffee: black,” Castiel replies. He molds a smile onto his face and grins at the woman. Her pale cheeks take on a hint of red as she retreats to the kitchen to retrieve their orders. Dean looks between the two and shrugs, agitation playing on his brow. Castiel smirks and looks to Mary.

“What is it, that you had to haul ass halfway upstate California, that you wanted to talk about?” Castiel holds his stare when Dean clamps a warning hand onto his thigh. Mary scrutinizes him pensively; the little wrinkes dancing in the corners of her eyes are the only signal that Castiel is getting to her. After a moment, she folds and glares at the table, picking at a little dent in the wood.

“I need to know if you have any blackmail material, Castiel.” Mary shifts so her face is on the same level as Castiel’s. Her eyes open and honest. Did he have... what now?

“Are you serious?” Castiel asks, disbelief coloring his tone. She can’t be serious. “What would I have done that merits blackmail?”

“I don’t know, Cas. Maybe if you were a prostitute or a drug dealer or something. Y’know, the kind of stuff the public would eat up. Anything particularly interesting about your family situation?” Castiel stiffens. There are certain aspects of his family that beg attention; specifically his father and oldest brother. Chuck and Michael Novak, both incredibly serious in their own regards, are majorly successful lawyers. Michael, an especially promising pupil, won his first case about a month after he graduated from Harvard Law; it was a murder trial with a celebrity culprit that was well known for his guilt. Michael had managed to prove his 'innocence' via a loophole in the evidence forms submitted by the LAPD. That was around the time Castiel had graduated high school and came out to his father; around the time of his disownment. Castiel doesn’t even bother to think of the atrocity that is the actress Claire Milton.

Castiel is pulled from his thoughts by a warm hand on his cheek. “Cas? Is there a problem?” Dean inquires. His eyes reflect the worry that was in his voice. He shakes himself out of his daze and brushes a soft kiss against Dean’s cheek. “I’m fine.”

He turns to Mary. “Do you know of the Novak family? Or have you heard of Claire Milton?” Mary thinks for a moment, and nods at the recognition. “Well, my... father and brother are Chuck and Michael Novak. Claire Milton is Chuck’s wife,” Castiel pauses, knowing well that his face is scowling. “Chuck kicked me out when he found out I was gay. Said I’d ‘bring down the family legacy’ or whatever. Michael didn’t even raise a finger to stop it. Claire... well you probably read the tabloids.” Claire was a walking disaster. Castiel wasn’t fully aware of the extent of her idiocy; however, he was sure the list of her public snobbery sightings was high.

Mary rubs a hand to her chin, considering. After a moment, Castiel leans his head into Dean’s shoulder and steels himself for the worst. No one wants connections to a bitchy celebrity or slimy lawyer family, regardless of the fact that three of the family’s children had never intentionally done anything awful. It would be ideal for her to drop him right here and right now. That’s why when Mary speaks, Castiel is extremely surprised.

“Everyone’s family has their fair share of baggage. Some just have more than others.” Mary inhales to continue, but a man in a black waistcoat stops at their table with two milkshakes and one steaming mug of coffee. Castiel grabs his mug, but is surprised when a pair of familiar fingers sweep over his knuckles.

He jerks his eyes up to the now bearded face and notices not much has changed. Sure, he’s a little more worse for wear, what with the little wrinkles on his forehead and under his eyes, but the man still looks almost identical to how Castiel remembers him.

“Crowley,” he grumbles, pulling his hand away. Crowley smiles his wicked smirk and lifts a brow.

“Hello, Cassie,” he retorts. Castiel feels Dean’s hand tense where it lies on his thigh. He pats it reassuringly and appraises Crowley. He ducks Castiel’s gaze and locks eyes with Dean. It makes Castiel’s skin crawl. “And is this freckled daffodil your new squeeze?”

“I don’t see how that’s any business of yours,” Castiel bites. He takes a sip from his coffee and glares at the other man. Crowley mocks an expression of fear at his tone, eyebrows shooting up his forehead, his mouth rounding out in that ‘o’ shape like they did. It’s a bittersweet reunion.

“On the contrary, Cassie. It is my business, considering the mess that ridiculous pesky little Englishman left you in.” Crowley smirks down at him condescendingly, in true Crowley fashion. “I ain’t no holla back girl, Castiel.”

Okay, that was kind of funny. But Castiel focuses all of his energy into glaring at him until he gets the hint and leaves. He gets it, but not before winking and blowing a kiss at Dean and Castiel. He swings his hips as he saunters back to the kitchen.

Fingertips graze the stubble under Castiel’s chin and pull so he’s looking at Dean. His face is tinged pink in ill-conealed irritation and his mouth is a stone’s throw away from a snarl.

“Who the hell was that?” Dean grumbles. Crowley does have a distinct effect on people; Dean’s anger is completely understandable. The possessiveness of his grip, however, is annoying. Castiel scoots out of his arms and rests his head in his hands.

“That was my ex, Dean. He’s an asshole, and that’s what makes him an ex.” Castiel reclines and sees the look on Mary’s face. She doesn’t look pleased with his display. “What?”

“Cas, how much do your exes know about you? And would they be willing to use said information against you publicly for money?” She does look genuinely concerned for him, not just her company, though a little of that does come through.

Castiel doesn’t know how much his exes know about him. Balthazar definitely knows him best; they grew up together. He knows how Castiel’s family is, how his attitude towards his family is. He knows that he used to have a problem with drinking in his high school years and that in university he got hooked on coke for a while. Shit.

He will tell Dean. Dean wouldn’t judge Castiel on a mistake made several years ago. It wasn’t as if he’d intended for it to happen, it started as a coping mechanism after in a drunken tirade Michael accidentally let loose his true feelings about Castiel. How he was a disgrace to the family name, how a 'fucking faggot' could never be any better than if they were a corpse. Castiel wanted to forget it. So he went to a dealer and spent his paycheck on enough to keep him in a busied haze for a good month. It worked, until Balthazar discovered his hiding place. That’s when he told him he loved him.

“No, Mary. I don’t believe there is anything that my exes can blackmail me with,” he lies. He leaves a couple dollars on the table and pushes himself up, appetite gone and in a bitter mood. “I think I’m going to go home. I’ll see you two later.” Before either of them can say a word, before Dean’s fingers can fully grasp his blazer, Castiel hurries out of the restaurant and signals for a cab. He waits impatiently on the curb for a moment when a skirted hip brushes his own.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s the matter?” Mary asks, her voice hesitant. Castiel glances into her wide grey eyes and sees genuine concern. Castiel huffs and takes her hand, guiding them both so their sitting on the filthy sidewalk. Mary turns so she’s facing him, her blonde hair blowing in the slight breeze. She looks almost angelic and Castiel cringes at the cheesiness of the thought.

“Nothing’s the matter,” Castiel replies, allowing the more petulant edge to seep into his tone. Mary’s features immediately arrange into a mom-like expression, and Castiel fears for the lecture that’s sure to come.

“Cas, that’s total bullshit. Seriously. What’s wrong?” She takes his hands and pulls them into her lap, removing the only barrier he could set between them. Castiel’s shoulders slump and he lets himself be held. After a moment, he answers her as honestly as he can.

“I don’t like talking about my family. I hate them,” he mumbles. He feels a pair of sinewy arms wind around him and he pushes his head onto Mary’s shoulder. “They hate me, too, so I guess it’s nice to have mutual feelings.” He chuckles, but it sounds extremely forced even to his own ears. There’s a light pressure at his temple; it’s as warm as it is quick.

“That’s okay, honey. We don’t have to talk about them.” Mary rubs a thumb into his upper arm and pulls away. She holds a manicured hand out to him, staring until he finally places his rough palm against hers. Mary jerks her arm and he stumbles up beside her. “We can go shopping instead. You’re going to need your own suits, darling, and I bought that for Dean two Christmas’ ago.”

Castiel looks at his shoes and blushes. Damn, way to tell your whatever-he-is’s mother that you spent the night at his house. Mary chortles and links an arm through his, tugging him back into the restaurant. “Look at you, all blushy. I had my suspicions, kiddo. Neither of you are very subtle.”

The warm air of the restaurant hits him like the sun hitting his naked back. Castiel furls down his collar and walks back to the booth Dean’s currently seated in playing on his phone. Mary almost shoves him beside Dean and takes her original seat across the table of them. As soon as he’s seated, Dean gives him a worried glance but makes no move to touch him. So, Castiel presses himself flush against the other man’s side, intertwining their fingers. Mary gives them a warm little smile, her eyes sparkling with something Castiel hasn’t seen in a while: honest love.

“Dean? Cancel your plans for the rest of the day. We’re taking Castiel to get proper clothes,” Mary says around her nearly depleated milkshake. Dean raises a brow and nods in assent. Castiel snatches what’s left of his cherry pie and is awarded an angry glare. He shoots him his loveliest grin in response.

“Yeah, let’s get him a fucking suit.”

* * *

* * *

Dean, Castiel, and Mary took the subway back to Campbell Publishing headquarters to take the Impala downtown. Mary lets Cas ride shotgun, insisting that she prefers to sit in back, but Dean saw her little grin when he held Castiel’s hand on the walk to the sub station.

Dean pulls in to a small lot just outside of Union Square and pulls the keys out of baby’s ignition. Cas climbs out and scrambles to open the door for Mary, tripping over his feet a little. Clumsy fucker; Dean doesn’t think it’s at all adorable. He steps out of the Impala and waits for Mary to quit whispering to Cas and get a damn move on already. Suddenly his mother is fishing in his pocket for his keys and leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

“What are you doing?” Dean stares down at her, flabberghasted at her ability to be spontaneously stupid. He takes a step back as he watches her sly movements, slinking away behind the wheel of his car and turning the key in the ignition a little too roughly for Dean’s taste. She cracks open the window and fixes Dean with a serious glance. “Make sure he has fun. The kid’s got an assload of problems; he could use a break.”

Mary shifts, putting the car in drive, and backs out into the busy street, leaving behind a very angry Dean and a puzzled Cas. “God-friggin’-damnit.” Dean mutters. He walks over to where Castiel is poised as though he’s about to take flight and wraps an arm around his waist. Cas turns his twinkling blues on him and Dean forgets how to think for a moment until Castiel prods him; he’s asked a question.

“What?” Dean asks. He rubs a hand over his face for clarity. Cas’ presence doesn’t do much for Dean’s intelligence. Those damn pretty eyes, his stupid feathery hair, especially that innocent gummy grin; they are all so dumb. But he can’t stop himself from patting him on the cheek and leading him towards the businesswear shops towards the east.

“I said, why’d Mary leave us?” Cas repeats, tilting his head ever so slightly. His eyes gleam in the midnoon cloudlight, making him look almost ethereal. Dean is overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him, right on the sidewalk, but he settles for a well placed peck between Cas’s eyebrows.

“She wanted to give us some space.” Cas’s eyes widen slightly, the confusion slowly dissapating and leaving a dreamy smile in its wake. He grabs Dean’s hand and pulls him into a little crook between two buildings. Dean’s about to say something totally genius about how fucking hands-y he’s being but before he can even open his mouth chapped lips are pressed against his own. Cas lays his hands to rest on Dean’s hips, awkwardly angling his head so their noses don’t bonk together.

Dean, quickly remembering his whereabouts and the guy who has basically tackled him, cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair and sighs against his warm lips. Cas pulls away and pushes his forehead against Dean’s. “Are we gonna do this, for real?” he asks, just a small whispering of breath starkly contrasting the obnoxious babble of the city.

Dean rubs his hand against Cas’s neck and draws a hand down his back. Cas scoots forward so their chests are brushing over each other with every passing breath.Cas’s face is just so lovely (yes, he’s aware that he’s a total sap) that he pulls Cas forward and leans so his cheek is pressed flush against Castiel’s ear in a cradle. Mumbling in reply, he says, “Yeah, let’s do this thing.”


	7. The Hushed Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean discovers Castiel's trust issues and tries his damnedest to ratify them. Castiel invites Dean back to his place where they build a pillow fort and watch Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. The two get drink some of Castiel's old liquor, and much cuddling ensues.

The pair walks hand in hand along the promenade sidewalk, searching out suitable shops for Castiel to purchase business wear. Never mind that Castiel was okay with the last six stores they stopped in; Dean wants him to ‘show off his goods’ and evidently those stores weren’t suffice. Really, Castiel thought it was ridiculous. He has a suit back at his apartment- it’s from his father’s remarriage when he was seventeen, granted, but he is physically the same in girth and stature from his days in high school. Dean tells him to shove it whenever he mentions the fact, which is about every thirty paces. So, following Dean’s oh-so-charming advice, he internalizes his objections.

After about fifteen minutes of aimless wandering, Dean spots a quaint hipster-esque shop with an attractive man modeling in front wearing a pair of trousers with suspenders (with nothing covering his well muscled torso) and he takes off, towing Castiel along with him. “Dean, what the hell?!” Castiel stumbles and sprints just to keep up.

Dean turns his mossy eyes on him and shoots him a jaw-dropping grin full of mischievous intent. He ignores Castiel’s question even as he slows and pulls them into the shop. It has a sort of backwoods charm, with moose heads and deer heads mounted on the walls. Castiel has never been a fan of hunting; it’s too brutish and cruel for his tastes. Dean, however, seems to have no interest in the decorations and heads straight to a handsome employee manning the register.

“Hi,” Dean grunts in greeting. Castiel is developing a sort of fondness for that Kansas drawl, as idiotic as Dean is at times. The man looks up from what he’s typing in the computer and raises his eyebrows at them.

“How may I help you?” he asks, his voice reflecting the stubbornness in his eyes: vaguely reminding Castiel of his father for a split-second. He quickly conceals the slip up in his demeanor and pastes a smile onto his face as identical to Dean’s as he can manage. It doesn’t have the desired effect; the man shoots them a rather rude grimace and returns to his keys.

Dean clears his throat once before he presses on. “I have six-thousand dollars in my pocket. It’s all yours if you can make my friend look hot.” The man’s eyes lock back on Dean’s quicker than Castiel can gather that he is being offered up as a blank canvas for this stranger. He attempts to pull his hand out of Dean’s so he can run off and buy a burger instead of suffering this shit, but Dean holds fast. The man seems to contemplate the deal in vigor before he sighs with resignation.

“Fine. Your names? I’m Victor, by the way.” He peacocks slightly, displaying those broad shoulders barely hidden below a form-fitting deep violet shirt. Castiel is probably ogling him because he receives very impatient growls from both men and an arm wrapped possessively around his waist. Dean reaches out a hand to Victor, his hesitations forgetten by the human comfort Castiel provides, and introduces himself.

“I’m Dean.” He smiles that same charming smile he has when Castiel woke up beside him in the morning, only with a slight edge. He looks the perfect combination of a mischievous boy and well-spoken-for man; he is beautiful. He pulls away and Castiel gives a slight wave, not moving his arms from where they are tucked snuggly against his sides. “I’m Castiel.”

“That’s a pretty weird name, kid.” Victor runs a hand along his scalp and turns back to his computer to shut off whatever he was working on. When the computer makes it’s dial-down noises, Victor rotates so he’s facing them and points to a room in back. “Go undress and wait in there for me. I’ll meet you in a few with some things that may look fine.” Victor pushes away from his desk and heads in the general direction of the men’s formal wear section.

Castiel pulls out of Dean’s hold and stalks off to the dressing room in back. He hears Dean follow him, a light chuckle coming from him. “It’s not gonna kill you to dress up, Cas,” Dean mutters, taking long strides so he can walk alongside Castiel.

“Maybe it will, Dean. People die from all sorts of things in the modern world,” Castiel retorts. He folds his arms over his chest and glares at the clear door to the well-furnished room. Dean reaches around him to open it and saunters in, sparing Castiel a glance over his shoulder and shrugging when Castiel shuffles in, closing the door behind him.

The room takes the shape of an oblong oval; in the center of the wider end rests a one-person podium, likely where people get measured. There is a glittering chandelier just feet from their heads, illuminating the room in an incandescent golden glow.

Dean collapses onto one of the white chairs positioned flush against the wall and places his feet atop a small coffee table. Castiel sighs in resignation before following suit and joining him in the chair adjacent. After a moment, he begins tapping his fingers on the armrests in boredom. He turns to Dean and mumbles,“If I have to do this, can I get colorful suspenders?”

“What is it with you and suspenders? Yeah, Cas. We can get whatever the hell you want,” Dean pauses and corrects himself. “We can get whatever the hell you want as long as you’ll wear whatever I want you to here.” He shoots Castiel an evil grin, though there is some hesitation present in his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, Dean. I’ll be your model-man.” Castiel grimaces at the idea of parading around in something that only has the purpose to keep him warm and covered, but he hates the cautious look on Dean’s face more. He reaches out his left hand and places it on Dean’s knee. The other man’s face floods with relief; he must’ve thought Castiel was actually that angry.

“You don’t have to do anything, y’know.” Dean places his hand atop Castiel’s and taps out a rhythm against his fingernails. “We do need you to look professional though. If you intend to be published,” he mentions, momentarily contemplating before adding, “Nothing that any past or present regeneration of the Doctor wore. If you find a thirty foot scarf, Cas, I swear to god.” He chuckles, allowing a warm smile to color his features. He should really smile more often; it’s the kind of expression that corrupts powerful kings, that elicits inspiration in artists, that’s immortalized in thousands of artistic masterpieces throughout the entirety of documented history. He looks as radiant as the sun.

Castiel can’t help himself; he rubs a thumb along Dean’s plump lower lip, relishing in the slight intake of Dean’s breath as he does so. He drags his hand across Dean’s face, letting it come to rest on his cheek in a light caress. Just as he leans forward to take those pink lips as his own, the door opens with Victor and a shorter young man carrying a pile of extremely classy looking suits. Castiel pulls away from Dean and ducks to hide the growing blush on his cheeks.

“Okay, Castiel, you’re going to have to undress.” Victor and his assistant bring the clothing to a table near the dressing area and carefully lay them out, nine suits, complete with waistcoats for each, in total. The smaller man turns back to him and says, “I’ll be doing the measuring and adjusting. My name’s Kevin.” He gives an awkward two-fingered salute and makes for the door. “As soon as you’re ready, just ring the buzzer for me.” He exits, leaving the two alone in the quiet room.

Castiel pushes himself out of his chair heads to the back, pausing to search out a place to put his borrowed clothes when he’s fully undressed. He finds a little wooden bin, placing it next to his foot so he can disrobe. As he pulls the top button free of it’s notch, Dean pulls out his phone and mumbles something.

“What?” Castiel asks, pulling off the blazer and dropping it into the bin. He begins unbuttoning his shirt. Dean eyes flit between the skin peaking out under Castiel’s fingers and his own phone as he answers. “You’re really pretty,” he mutters, his voice taking an especially gruff tone as he replies. Castiel feels the grin before he actually registers it and is jogging to Dean before he has his thoughts in order.

“You sure know how to sweet talk a man, Winchester. What are you going to tell me now, you like my boobies?” He comes to rest just between Dean’s parted legs and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. Grinning against the traces of stuble on Dean’s jaw, Castiel whispers, “I think you’re beautiful, Dean. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Painstakingly and carefully, Dean brings his hands to Castiel’s waist and slides them so they rest just above the button on his trousers. He peels it free and tugs them down. There’s no trace of any lustful intentions in his eyes, only something deeper, something Castiel had only seen in his former best friends eyes.

“Dean, we can’t do anything here. That kid will get suspicious,” he murmurs, pulling the button-up off of his shoulders and seating himself in Dean’s lap. The desire to claim those red, plump lips in his own overwhelms him momentarily and he sweeps his tongue over his own before continuing. “Would you like to go to dinner tonight?” He leans his forehead against Dean’s, not wanting to see the perplexion he’s sure is there.

A warm hand settles on his lower back, and another beckons his chin up and against that warm moutth. The kiss is short, sweet. But it leaves him with a yearning for Dean; not just his body, but his mind and his expressions, his warmth. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls them together, locked in a seemingly inseperable embrace. After a small eternity, Dean releases his hold on Castiel’s waist, giving him a sheepish grin.

“I have to go call in Kevin, but when we’re done here, we can go back to my place.” He steps away and walks to the little button positioned beside the door. He presses it and moves back to the chair next to Dean’s, plopping himself down. In a few short moments, there is a light knocking and a hushed, “Can I come in?”

Castiel answers that he can and pushes himself off of the chair to meet the young man at the podium. Kevin has positioned himself near the table where he placed the suits and is scrutinizing Castiel’s form with a tenseness on his brow. His lip twitches and he plucks a deep forest colored suit out of the pile.

“Here, put this one on.” He hands Castiel the suit and turns slightly so he’s not watching him as he dresses. Castiel pulls on the expensive trousers, avoiding the mirrors because he knows he looks strange in formalwear. Kevin hands him a black shirt and dark pinstripe gray waistcoat, and Castiel pulls them on obediently, buttoning them and turning back towards the man. Kevin eyes him chest to toe and grabs the matching blazer from where it rests. Castiel stuffs himself into it, frowning when he finds that he’s swimming in it- he’s lost more weight than he thought.

Kevin places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and leads him to where Dean is sitting. He clears his throat and Dean looks up and does a double take at Castiel. Huh, maybe he does look good. He fidgets uncomfortably when Kevin begins prodding at his back and shoulders, placing pins into the fabric so Castiel isn’t swimming in it. After a few minutes, he finishes with the temporary adjustments and spins him around, showing him off to Dean.

“So all we need to do is pull this in a few inches and it should fit perfectly,” Kevin mentions. He pats and tugs at the pants until he’s satisfied with how they look, attaching a few more pins here and there. “It should take a few days with adjustments, but it’ll be ready by Thursday.” All Dean does is nod in acknowledgement, not removing his eyes from Castiel’s body.

Castiel winks and hobbles towards the large mirrors in the back of the room, minding the pins that could easily take out his sensitive bits if he weren’t careful. When he catches a glimpse of himself, his reaction is nearly the same as Dean’s. Completely contrasting the outfit he wore into the shop, the clothing makes him looks as though he put on muscle weight. His shoulders look broader, his chest more puffed; he doesn’t look like the skinny barista he is. He looks like a movie star, and a classic one at that.

“Yeah, we’re gonna take it.” He hears Dean mumbling to Kevin, unable to tear his eyes off of his own reflection (yes, he’s aware he is being a bit of a narcissist). The lighter tones of the waistcoat coupled with the deep green of the suit make his eyes look almost ethereal, like some sort of celestial being. He’s jerked from his daze when a startling realization hits him like a sack of bricks.

“Dean, this thing has more worth than my last four paychecks combined.” He turns and shuffles back to the two men. Kevin gives him a somewhat disbelieving stare and Dean looks like that was the furthest issue from his mind. Of course, it should be, Castiel supposes. He’s got money, if Castiel did he’d be just the same. Castiel sighs and addresses Dean again. “I’ll help you pay for it.”

Dean frowns and opens his mouth to argue but Castiel cuts him off before he can start. “I have about two-hundred dollars that I can spend without depleting my food money for the month. I know it’s not much, but I’m providing it with or without your approval.” He puts his hand on his hips and watches the resignation settle onto Dean’s face. It’s when Kevin loudly clears his throat that the two register his presence.

“Do you want me to check this out for you?” Kevin grunts. He’s tapping his foot an impatient little beat and folds his arms together pensively. And Dean turns away. And Castiel follows. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck as Dean affirms saying he’ll meet Kevin by the front desk in a few minutes. Castiel walks back to where he left the clothes he wore into the store and begins stripping when a pair of sturdy warm hands grip hips upper arms in a gentle cradle.

“Dean, what is it?” Castiel says, pumping a more benevolent tone into his words. Dean removes his hands from his arms, instead favoring the buttons on his front. He keeps his eyes down as he answers. “If you ever need anything like, y’know whenever, don’t hesitate to ask.” His voice is mildly gruff and there is definitely a touch of pink on his neck. Castiel smiles as Dean’s hands go to work on pushing off the expensive fabric.

“You’re only saying that,” Castiel murmurs. He knows that Dean will abandon him if he grows to dependent. So, he won’t be clingy. He’ll be lonely. It’s fine, he’s done it before. After Balthazar, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to be close with people. Crowley had described it perfectly when they broke up; Castiel was a fucking coward who’d sooner jump off a bridge than get close enough to develope feelings.

The hands that were moving suddenly stop and Castiel looks up from behind his hand. When did he cover his face? There is a wetness at his cheeks and he dabs at it curiously. How’d that get there? He looks into Dean’s eyes and sees sadness and anger- so much anger that he appears to be debating whether or not to punch him. Oh. He’s crying.

“Dean, I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sorry,” he mutters. He can hear the falseness in his own voice and cringes at it slightly. Dean roughly grips him by his shoulders and presses his forehead flush against Castiel’s. His voice comes out a growl against Castiel’s cheek. “You’re a fucking idiot, Cas.”

Warm hands are tilting Castiel’s chin up and a soft, dry pressure meets his lips. Dean thumbs along his jaw, his other hand slipping to nestle around his wrist. The two must look quite the scene, he thinks. A half undressed, unshaven, and crying bastard snogging a handsome man that literally looks like sunlight. He smiles against Dean’s lips and pulls away.

“I know.” He mouths at Dean’s neck and pushes himself a good foot away so he can undress completely. A moment later, he is back in his borrowed suit and back in Dean’s arms, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. He’ll humor Dean, let him pretend that this is what it isn’t: a relationship.

* * *

* * *

Dean and Cas agree to head back to Cas’s place to dress down after dinner by the bay. Dean vaguely recalls wondering if Cas’s inviting him to his place means he’s accepted them as doing the dating thing, but decides not to question Cas’s weird tendancies. The drive there had been somewhat awkward, what with Cas not talking to him aside from answering questions with a curt ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Screw it, he thinks, if Cas doesn’t think that Dean really likes him, he will just do his utmost to convince him otherwise.

They arrive at Castiel’s apartment within a matter of minutes, his house being less than three blocks from Campbell’s headquarters. Cas tosses his keys onto his coffee table and makes for the bedroom down the hall, leaving a trail of Dean’s clothes behind him. Dean shuts the door behind him and splays himself across the couch.

“Hey, do you want to stay over tonight?” Castiel murmurs, emerging from his room with a large Mickey Mouse sweater stuck on his ears. Dean notices that he’s clutching a pair of reindeer boxers and watches as Cas slips into them. He perches himself beside Dean on the sofa.

“Sure, can I borrow something more comfortable?” He asks, looking pointedly at Castiel’s ensemble. He’s still wearing his ridiculously tailored and ostentatious suit, which is more than uncomfortable, and shifts his shoulders for emphasis. Castiel looks like he’s choking on the laughter he’s holding in and nods minutely.

“I’ll be right back.” Cas flits off the couch and runs to his room, his feet pounding the wooden floor. Dean turns his attention back to his surroundings. He hasn’t been here for a number of days, and Castiel has only been back briefly, but from what he can gather the place has been cleaned up a bit. There are no longer monstrous piles of dirty laundry and garbage rotting in the reception room and hallway. It’s actually sort of nice, in a campy way.

Cas emerges a few minutes later carrying boxers covered in Pikachu and a dark red hoodie. He tosses them to Dean, smirking as he does so, that son of a bitch. Dean grimaces up at him as he strips to his birthday suit and pulls on the borrowed clothing. He slouches back onto the couch, shifting as Cas follows suit and curls into his side.

* * *

* * *

Several hours later and Cas has broken out his liquor, put on Dr. Horrible, and grabbed blankets for the two of them. They’ve made something of a pillow fort and are cuddling together on the floor with pizza and ice cream and Cas’s stash of Amaretto. The two are drunk off their asses, Castiel especially who, after a good five minutes of rubbing his head into Dean’s collarbone, evidently likes being rubbed and patted when he’s off his rocker.

“Dean, I reeeally like Nathan Fillion. He’s hot,” Cas slurs, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes from where he’s cradled on Dean’s lap. His cheeks are slightly flushed and his breath reeks and Dean probably looks to be in a similar state. Apparently, he has more to say on the subject. “Like, have you ever seen his hair and his butt? God, I could write books about his butt, Dean.” Cas rolls so his cheek is pressed against his knee and reaches for the large, now nearly empty bottle. Just as he wraps his lips around the bottle’s opening, Dean plucks it away.

“Dude, I think you’ve had enough.” Dean takes the bottle between his own lips and chugs down the remaining sips. He lets out a burp and marvels at Castiel’s giggles. “But he’s got a pretty nice ass, I’ll give you that.” He watches the screen as Buddy gives frozen yogurt to Penny, not realizing that she would’ve loved him if he’d been less power hungry.

“Hey Cas?” Dean asks, trying not to sound to fragile and promptly failing miserable. Cas looks to him and through his bleary haze, Dean can tell that Castiel will answer him honestly. He cocks his head to the left, giving permission to continue. So, Dean clears his throat and pulls Cas so they’re face to face. “You, uh, know that I’m not lying when I tell you you’re great, right?” He waits until Cas nods to continue. “Well, in that case, I, uh, want you to believe me when I tell you that I like you a lot. And when I say that I want this to, er, go places and shit,” Dean spits out. God, he sounds like a twelve year old asking his crush if he wants to go steady. He shifts nervously as he awaits Cas’s answer. After a moment, warm hands envelope his face as Castiel presses a sloppy albeit loving kiss to his lips.

“I’ll believe you, Dean. You just don’t mean it. Not really,” Castiel whispers against his cheek. Dean pulls away from him, horrified. Cas thinks he doesn’t mean it? He’s basically professed his crush on this man, a man he’s known for the lesser half of a week, and he has the gall to not believe him? Dean wraps his hands around Castiel’s waist and pulls him into his lap.

“I mean it, dumbass. How much convincing is it going to take for you to realize that?” Dean growls as he peppers light kisses down Cas’s neck. His hands are angry; he can feel the little twitches Cas elicits every time he presses to much force where his nails are scratching Cas’s back. Bringing his face back up to Cas’s, he pulls the other man by the neck so their stubble is rubbing together and his lips are to Cas’s ear. “Cas, you think that if you we’re just some ‘thing’ I would’ve let you stay at my house? Hell, do you think I would’ve came here with you and gotten drunk off our asses to watch Dr. Horrible and build a fucking pillow fort? Cas, I didn’t even do that with Lisa and we we’re engaged.” Cas is pulling at his hair by the time he finishes his tirade. He can feel his hardness pushing into his stomach. Dean releases him and watches as he scrambles out of his boxers and back onto Dean’s lap.

“You we’re engaged?” He asks, of all things. Castiel busies himself with stripping Dean of his clothes, yanking down the zipper and pushing the hoodie down Dean’s arms. “And you didn’t build pillow forts? She doesn’t sound too fun,” he murmurs against Dean’s throat. Dean, who just noticed that Castiel has neglected that damn Christmas sweater, peels it off Cas and tosses it to the open end of their cocoon. He moves to remove his boxers but Castiel catches his hands in his own, slowly sliding off his body and dragging them down Dean’s legs and pressing his lips against Dean’s hardening cock.

“She was okay, Cas.” Dean’s huffing now. Little spots dance in his vision as blood is directed southward. “She couldn’t make me this hard in a matter of seconds though.” Cas prods at his knees; Dean answers by spreading his legs, allowing the man to duck his head between them. Castiel pulls him down by the hips and tucks a pillow beneath his lower back. Then, he turns his attention to Dean’s dick. He ducks his head and Dean can no longer see his face, making the sudden wetness licking its way up from just below Dean’s balls all the more excellent.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean moans as Cas hardens him, suckling at the tip using his lips while lazily dragging his hand along the shaft. He adds his other hand after a moment, jerking them up and down while twisting them just slightly enough for Dean to splay out and let his head lull back with a loud moan. Soon enough, Dean is writhing beneath Cas’s hands and mouth, working together in unison to bring him on the ledge of orgasm.   
Cas releases his hold on Dean momentarily, sliding up so their chests are pressed flush together. He drags a hand down their stomachs and takes their cocks together in his grip. It doesn’t take long; with just a few swipes of Cas’s hand and the feel of his cock against his own, Dean comes, spurting strips of white across both of their stomachs. Cas comes soon enough, still clutching Dean’s sensitive member against his own as he spills over.

Dean pulls Cas into his arms, not at all caring abouth the sticky mess clinging between them. He tucks Castiel’s head beneath his chin and whispers sweet nothings to him. Well, at least they were meant to be sweet nothings. Dean, in his all but intoxicated daze, notices that they are both confessing held in truths, openly and honestly now that the barrier of their self-awareness has been removed.

Castiel tells him about his ex Balthazar McVey. Sure, he’d told him a little about him earlier, but he had only mentioned the messy break-up. The two were together since they met in grade school, best friends before they fell in love. When they went to university, they decided they would stay close to each other; it turned out well because Balthazar got a scholarship to Stanford for hockey and Cas ended up attending Berkeley- a mere train’s ride away. Everything was peachy until Balthazar decided to join the football team where he met a guy named Raphael.

“Like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Cas, if a guys gonna leave you for a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, you have no business dating that guy anyways,” he breathes into Cas’s hair, temporarily cutting him off. It earns him a light chuckle and after a moment Cas continues.

“After he met Raphael, the two started going out a lot. I thought they were just buddies, y’know, they really liked going to football games like athletic friends do,” Castiel pauses, and Dean considers the ridiculous outdated stereotype. He just thinks Balthazar was an ass out for his own interests. “Then I found out from my friend Uriel that they were going to fancy restaurants and all of that romantic shit. But Balthazar didn’t tell me anything, so I figured there was nothing going on. A week later and I get a note from him saying he ran off to England with his new fiancé to get a civil partnership. He didn’t even stick around to say goodbye.” Castiel curls himself up against Dean’s gut. Dean wraps his arms around the now small man, trying to provide as much comfort as he can to the agonizing man. He presses kisses into his hair, lovingly, and lays the two of them down onto the heavily cushioned floor.

“Y’know, something similar happened with me and Lisa. Hell, we were actually engaged and a month away from when we were going to get married. Everything was good; she had my mom’s wedding ring from when she was with Dad, we were going to honeymoon in Fiji. But, I guess it’s really my fault.” He stops, not wanting to go down this road. When Castiel turns and faces him with blue eyes so ernest they could kill, Dean is unable to contain the waterfall of words. “I slept with this guy at a bar. He was just some fling, I guess. But, it was the first time I’d actually done anything major with another dude. She didn’t take my being bi very well. Actually, she fucked out, saying that if I didn’t call off the wedding she’d tell everyone what happened. I didn’t really mind, but Dad did.”

Oh, and did he remember that night. He was sent back to Lawrence because it was his Dad’s week and thank god Sammy wasn’t there for that. Dean still has scars to remind him of when he came out to his father, and they serve as reminders of why staying with his mother was the best decision of his life.

“‘S okay, Dean. We don’t have to talk about it. My dad did things too, don’t mean I want to remember them.” Castiel kisses the corner of his mouth before he snuggles up into Dean’s shoulder. Just as his eyes flutter shut, he mumbles out a slurred, “Love you, Dean,” and turns his head with a monstrous snore that announces he’s already asleep. Still though, this knowledge doesn’t stop Dean from turning over and bringing Castiel to rest atop his chest.

“Love you too, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pure fluff on my part. I didn't want to write anything too smutty or too serious and depressing so here you are. Also, I'm not very good at writing heart-to-hearts, so I'm terribly sorry if this was god-awful.


	8. Let's Get Down to Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly four months after Castiel and Dean first met. Castiel has moved in with Dean, adjusting to sharing a home with someone for the first time since university. His deal with Campbell Publishing has been signed and contracted, and Castiel and Dean begin editing the books. Sam, Jess, and Mary discuss the latter's upcoming wedding, and Dean and Cas muddle through some issues of their own.

Days, weeks, and nearly four months pass and Castiel's deal has been settled. He'll be compensated $500,000 as a base pay and he's getting royalties equal to Dean's. Sam and Jess all but forced him into the Winchester household; they snuck into his little apartment one night and moved all of his clothes into Dean's colossal closet. They didn't have to move much, Castiel wasn't sentimental enough to own many pictures and his only large collection is the entirety of the Spider-Man comics.

He's been sharing a bed with Dean for three weeks. They've coined each other boyfriends and Castiel took Dean to meet Gabriel and Anna. In addition to being in a stable relationship with a man, and being economically stable, Castiel is for the first time since high school getting along with more members of his family than just Gabriel. Anna, as it turns out, is engaged to a large man called Uriel. Castiel doesn't necessarily approve of his sister's taste; he is after all her relatively protective, though mostly absent, older brother. Uriel seems to have less than honest motivations for proposing to Anna. He looks at her like she's a piece of meat. Regardless, Castiel's life is in pretty good order.

He spends his days writing and his nights making love to Dean. Their relationship hasn't stagnated at that point where all parties involved lose interest; in fact, Castiel ends up more often than not fully seated on Dean's cock when he should be writing. Though, neither of them objects to the arrangement. Castiel finishes his edits and begins writing a love story, something he swore to never do, and Dean is his inspiration. They write side by side, Dean fleshes out the ideas, Castiel writes them out, and Dean checks over any parts Castiel may have lacked on.

Mary gives the boys their room, allowing their budding ‘thing’ to develop into an actual relationship before she starts stopping by the Winchester-Moore-Novak household with peculiar questions. Often times, they correlate to whether or not Castiel wants children and if he’d adopt. Other times, she’d outright tell him that she still has her father’s wedding ring and that if he needed it, for any reason, he could have it. Earlier in the day she had stopped by to enquire about Castiel's marital prospects. Castiel had answered that he is unaware of his plans to make a commitment and Mary nods and nods so much she looks like she's in danger of turning into a bobble head. Then, as subtly as she walked into the room, Mary exits and tries to talk to Dean about the same thing. The result is alarming, and that is exaggerating.

“I’ll marry whoever the hell I want when I want to, Mom!” Dean yells from the other room. Castiel knows that tone; either Dean is blushing furiously or trying _not_ to blush furiously. Castiel has gotten to know all of Dean’s reactions simply by the sound of his voice when he responds to something. And it scares the hell out of him.

Castiel _is_ worried about how fast everything is going. Final edits for his book are happening, his family life is improving- at least his siblings recognize him as their brother, but what terrifies him most is his relationship with Dean. The only time he had allowed himself to get this close to another person was with Balthazar and that’s only because they knew each other since they were schoolboys. Dean was a stranger four months ago; he was a potential job four months ago.

Regardless of his worries, however, Castiel does acknowledge his attractions to the man vehemently. Dean’s far from perfect; he’s gruff, raunchy, and stubborn with a habit of doing just the opposite of what Castiel asks, but those things make Dean perfect, in a sense. He is surprised at the general lack of animosity between them; even Balthazar and Crowley needed breaks every once in a while, allowing for both of them to briefly see other people. Dean, so far, hasn’t made any attempt to do such a thing. He’s all smiles and cheerful jeers with suggestive winks and a seductive libido.

Dean is still arguing with his mother, despite his best efforts to curtail her inquiries. She’s now asking him if it’s because of John that he won’t admit his very obvious love for his boyfriend. Castiel pushes himself from his chair and stomps down the hall to their room to force Mary to do something more useful with her time.

“Dean, it’s been four months. Sam asked Jess after just one. I want grandchildren, honey.” Mary is sitting cross-legged on their bed, her head propped up in her palm. She’s all intense stares and wide-open expressions, genuinely curious about Dean’s opinion on the subject. If she notices Castiel standing in the doorway, she doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll have grandchildren, just not at this fucking second,” Dean growls in response from somewhere near the corner desk. There is the sharp _click-click-clack_ of fingers on a keyboard, angry typing indicative of his irritation and/or fluster. Castiel steps into the room tentatively, not wanting to start anything by answering Mary’s questions presumptuously. “You never bother Sam and Jess about this shit, why me?” Dean asks, a note of desperation creeping into his tone.

Castiel walks over to Dean and places his hands on his shoulders, massaging at the little tense knots forming at the base of his neck. It’s become a natural gesture for him, taking care of Dean. And it has for Dean too. Dean nurses him when he’s drunk too much, when he’s ill, and even calms him down when Claire calls with some more complaints about him existing. Dean has become his crutch, as much as it churns Castiel’s stomach to admit, and he has become Dean’s.

“Because they’re getting married and she already knows she’ll be getting grandchildren either way,” Castiel grumbles, pissed at the fact that they are being pressured into this shit already. Dean turns his head so his eye catches Castiel’s and offers him a minute smile.

“Well, Cas honey, you’re almost thirty and Dean’s thirty-four. Most couples would’ve settled down by now.” Mary butts in. Castiel slowly rotates to address her. He replies, “We’ve just met. What if Dean has a side career as Buffalo Bill? Maybe I’m secretly from Gallifrey and regenerate every eighty or so years and I’m actually over one thousand years old.” Castiel frowns at her until she backs off. She usually does, maybe she’s feeling her mortality today.

“You’re not a thousand years old and Dean’s not Buffalo Bill, though his father may be,” Mary responds. She waves her hand in the air nonchalantly as she continues. “I’m not asking you to cut your arm off or anything, boys. I just want to know when you’re going to qualify yourselves as ‘serious’ about each other.” Mary finishes, her intelligent grey eyes boring into Castiel’s blue ones.

Serious, huh? Yeah, he supposes they’re serious, though they never really discussed it. Dean either gets too flustered or goes all blushy and interrupts Castiel with a kiss, which eventually turns into sex, but they never return to the discussion. Castiel knows Dean loves him, he really does, but he doesn’t have the commitment to say it yet. And that is why Castiel is hesitant to admit that the relationship is serious to his boyfriend’s mother.

“I don’t know, Mary. It’s not like we’ve talked about it,” Castiel mutters under his breath. He feels Dean tense beneath his hands, those tight coils of muscle all contracting simultaneously. Castiel releases him and rubs his fingers into his temples. “If you’d let us figure everything out, I’m sure you’ll have your answers eventually.” He locks eyes with Mary, forcing her to concede to his conditions. She resigns with a sigh and slumps into the plush comforter on their bed.

“Okay, Cas. I’ll stop buggin’ you.” She heaves and allows her eyelids to flutter shut. Castiel turns and presses a quick kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, relishing in the little blush that still colors all of those lovely freckles by the mere touch of Castiel’s lips. When he turns back to address Mary again, he sees her peeking out of one eye with a little smile dancing in the corner of her lips. “Though, it would help if you two would hurry the hell up.”

The sound of wood grating against wood fills the room as Dean shoves his chair away from the desk and encircles Castiel with strong, brazen arms. Castiel can’t help the slight gasp that leaves his lungs without permission and leans back into Dean’s touch. Then, in a display that should not be performed around one’s mother, Dean plants one on him and Castiel doesn’t even bother attempting to resist his lips’ smooth push and pull on his. Soon, he forgets that they’re even in a room with his mother; even sooner, all of his problems melt away and he forgets what his name is altogether. All he can think is _Dean Dean Dean._

Dean pulls away from Castiel with a noisy final smooch, turning to address his mother afterward. “Stop asking, please. I... love Cas, and I’m pretty sure he loves me too.” That shy blush is creeping onto Dean’s face again and Castiel wants to kiss it right off of his cheeks. Luckily, he holds and instead presses his lips against Dean’s jaw line, savoring in the brush of stubble against his lips. “I do love you, Dean. When your mother leaves, I’ll show you just how much,” Cas whispers as he swipes his lips away, not wanting to get to ‘sensual’ around Mary.

“Cas, Dean, you are never allowed to do anything like this in front of me ever again, you hear?” Mary mock-grimaces as she rolls off their bed and shuffles towards the door. Sparing a final turn, Mary swivels her head so quickly her hair fans out in a long wavy arc. “And just so we’re clear, I love you both too. Cas, you’re already a member of the family as far as I’m concerned, so you might as well get used to my doting.” She winks and makes her exit.

Dean’s arms are pulling Castiel against his body seconds after she disappears around the corner. He feels the hard outline of Dean’s half-mast erection pressing against his ass. Castiel turns and stands on toe to kiss the little spot between Dean’s eyebrows.

“Later, Dean. I have to finish some edits- I’ll probably be done in about two hours,” Castiel hears the unwillingness to go back to work in his own voice and quickly adds, “Though, if you helped we’d be done in less than an hour.” Dean perks up: his shoulders squaring and spine straightening. Castiel pulls away from the man, leaving their entwined hands as their only shared skin contact.

“Let’s get to it.”

* * *

* * *

After about a half hour, it’s clear that Dean isn’t the best writer in the world. Hell, he _knew_ he wasn’t the best writer in the world, but that doesn’t stop Cas from lightly shaking his head, telling Dean that he doesn’t mind looking over the edits he’s doing. Dean thinks it’s unnecessary work having to go through things twice, and that he could’ve just called Sam or Jess to do this, but Cas refuses to let him get someone more capable for the job.

Cas went into the right line of work. He’s so focused on the content of his own writing, groaning when something’s not phrased the way he wants it to be, displaying a small, warm smile whenever something’s perfect. Dean really doesn’t get anything done; he’s too busy staring at Castiel. Eventually, Cas turns those alluring eyes on him, unfairly disarming Dean for a few seconds.

“Hey, I’m almost done. Do you want to make some coffee or something in the meantime?” Cas asks, his voice a little croaky from sitting in silence for so long. Dean pushes himself away from the desk and stretches, enjoying the little cracks his spine makes as the disks slide back into place. “Yeah, sure. Do you want it with peppermint?” Dean asks in response.

He waits until Cas nods before walking out of the large, comfortable room. Cas taught him how to make all of the coffees Naomi’s offers one weekend; it, the lesson, was fraught with frustrated yells, whip cream kisses, and a chocolate sauce war with Sammy and Gabe. Of course, they won, those fuckers, because Sammy’s the size of Bigfoot and Gabe is an evil genius.

Meeting Gabe was an event Dean would never repeat, if given the opportunity. Dean definitely saw the resemblance between the Novak brothers when he first met Gabe. He had that same wicked glint in his eye that Cas sometimes developed when he pushed Dean backwards onto their bed. The largest difference between the two, however, was that Cas is a genuinely nice person. Gabe is... a big bag of dicks.

Regardless, it was a good weekend. Dean had learned rather quickly, only getting mildly frustrated with his boyfriend whenever he’d tell him he was a moron or an ‘assbutt’. Sam and Jess loved their creations, perfectly willing to be the test subjects of their goofy science.

Dean walks down the winding staircase and heads to the kitchen. He almost steps back when he sees Jess sitting on the counter, eating pie (which he didn’t know they had) out of a tin. Then, he sprints to her, glancing over her shoulder at the food in her hands and hoping he’ll get some.

“Hey,” he mumbles near her ear. She flinches slightly, almost dropping the strawberry-rhubarb heaven in her hands. Dean eyes it with extreme interest. Cas probably made some this morning and Sammy, that fucker, probably ate it all. “Whatcha got there?”

“Fuck you, Dean. This is mine.” She obnoxiously scoops a spoonful into her mouth and noisily chews with her mouth open. Dean scoots around the counter so she can get a good view of his best ‘Sam’s Puppy Eyes’ impression. After just a few seconds, it works and she shoves the rest of the tin into his lap with an angry snarl.

“If you’re going to use your shared genetics with Sam for evil, then you can just forget about us having wedding pie instead of cake,” she growls, folding her arms over her thin chest. Dean takes a bit out of Cas’s new creation; this time he added whip cream directly into the filling, and it was a good choice. Dean barely prevents himself from moaning around the spoon.

“My genetics are only used for evil, Jess. I thought we were brothers,” Dean mutters under a mouthful of pie. Damn, it’s good. He’d have to see if Cas would let him eat it off his body. He shakes off the image before his nethers even have a chance of hardening and raises his brows towards Jess. “Want some coffee?” he asks.

“Yeah, make the one that’s green,” she replies. She pushes herself off the counter and stands between his slightly spread knees. Then, in a totally not Jess-like way, she kisses his cheek softly. “I’m going to go up to talk to Cas,” she mumbles when she pulls away. That was definitely strange.

Dean is cautious as he makes coffee for the three of them. Jess never shows him affection physically; they’re like brothers. She punches him whenever he wins at a game and he picks on her at family events. Through the entire process of Sam and Jess’s first wedding rehearsal, Cas, Dean, and Jess played a long game of ‘who can piss of grandma the most?’ Cas won, of course, dropping innuendos anytime he was near Deanna Campbell, which was the whole dinner because he was seated next to her.

He finishes off Jess and Cas’s drinks with a whip cream swirl and a Maraschino cherry each and takes them up the stairs, nervous anticipation building in his gut with each step. When he finally arrives next to the doorway- it took him almost five minutes to convince himself not to turn around and sprint to his impala- he hears the soft murmur of Cas and Jess’s voices mingling together. Of which, he can distinguish Jess’s higher pitch uttering the words ‘second thoughts’ and ‘wrong’ repeatedly. Cas sounds like he’s trying his very hardest to restrain himself from saying something rash.

Dean walks into the room and the two immediately hush from the invasion of his presence. Yeah, he was _definitely_ right to be suspicious. Cas is faking nonchalance with a hand rubbing through his hair rapidly and his fingers tapping out an abnormal rhythm on the mahogany desk. Jess has the fakest smile Dean has ever seen spread across her face, and he is factoring in that ridiculous half-smirk Paris Hilton gives the tabloids. He raises his brows in question that neither of them answers.

Heaving a sigh, he walks to the desk and places the cups on the sleek surface. Cas’s hand snakes out to stroke his: a plea to stay. So, Dean wonders around until he’s standing beside his boyfriend and places his hands on Cas’s. A question. Cas nods, of course, and Dean climbs into his lap to resume editing. The two carry out for a moment, hoping the tension will clear out when Jess does. When she doesn’t, Dean stops his piss footing and faces Jess directly.

“Okay, what’s up? No dancing around the fuckin’ subject.” Dean watches her shoulders droop with the confrontation.

“Nothin’,” she tries to say, but quickly stops her excuse when Dean shoots her his most irritated glare. “Fine, Sam and I’ve been talkin’ about the wedding and how it’s probably too soon to go through with it,” she says in a rush, probably trying to prevent Dean from hearing her clearly.

Dean stills. Too soon? They’d known each other since high school. If anything, it’s odd and _late_ that they haven’t run off to Vegas to seal their definite life-long relationship. Jess is lying and Dean thinks he gets why.

“Is this because you’re worried I’m gonna be a shit about it?” he asks, trying to keep the gruff hurt from his tone as much as possible. Yeah, it’s going to suck when the fantastic trio becomes the dynamic duo plus Dean. But now he has Cas, and he would never trade what he has now for what he had in the past. His mother is right: they are getting older.

Jess, however, seems to have never had this realization. She quickly attempts to negate his assertion. “No, I would never think that, you’re not like your daddy! I just don’t want to rush you and Cas into anything,” she pauses, rubbing her hands over her face. “Look, I know all about Mary pressuring you guys to seal the deal or whatever. But you’ve only known each other four months. I get that you love each other with all your hearts, too. I’m not blind. I just want you to be comfortable,” she finishes, firmly planting her feet on the wooden floor.

Wow, that’s... wow. Jess and Sam are waiting on him and Cas to get their shit together by postponing the thing they’d been planning since their senior year in _high school._ If that’s not English for ‘hurry the fuck up,’ Dean doesn’t know what is. He looks to Cas and finds him avoiding his gaze, his eyes on Dean’s lap atop his own. And Dean’s the one that dodges emotional confrontation. Cas is shit at this.

“Jess, you and Sam are perfect for each other. You don’t have to wait for _that_ reason,” he says, his voice taking on an almost begging note. Cas, though silent, does wind his hand through Dean’s and knots their fingers together. Dean takes that as motivation to continue. “Keep the old date, I’ll even give Sammy away to you, eh?” Dean’s attempt for humor falls flat when Jess gives him an exasperated glare. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t base what you two crazy kids do off of outside factors. And yes that includes me and Cas.”

“But that’s just it, Dean. You guys are not outside factors; you’re family. And we live together for god’s sake! What are we going to do, vacation together?” She pauses to gather her breath. “You can’t just expect me to listen to that bullshit. Sweetie, I’ve known you since you were sixteen. We’re supposed to do all this together, remember? The three of us against the world. That’s four now with Castiel.” She appears to have finished.

“Jess, I-” Jess shuts him up with a glare and places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. She waits until he acknowledges the contact to speak her mind.

“Cas, honey, no one has asked what you think of all this,” she offers in an almost maternal tone if Dean ever heard one. He doesn’t answer her, just continues with that little tapping pattern his fingers do against Dean’s fingers. She sighs and looks pointedly to Dean as though to say, ‘ _Scram!’_ He obliges, getting off his boyfriends lap and scooting so his ass shuffles some papers on the table.

Jess pulls a stiff chair next to his plush one and plops down beside him. Placing her hand on his, she continues trying. “Hey, it’s okay. I know it sucks to get close, I really do. But you don’t need to worry about Dean, all right?” He nods, his jaw clenching and unclenching from his resistance to speaking his mind. Dean wishes he would, has wished he would since when he admitted that he loved Cas more than anything in the world. Cas had spent nearly five minutes looking at his feet and when he responded, he said that Dean’s just saying that to get in his pants.

“He loves you, he’s just too butch for his own good. Cas, is this because of that British fuckass you were seeing?” She doesn’t wait for an answer after it becomes clear that the answer is likely yes. “Well, Dean’s neither a fuckass nor British. And I can assure you that people aren’t clamoring over each other to date him, either. I’m not saying this needs to happen now. Hell, it doesn’t need to happen in the next ten years if you don’t want it to. All I want to know, all we want to know before we get married is that you’re at least going to talk about it. Seriously,” she finishes, sounding extremely tired by the time she finishes her tirade.

Cas looks up and takes a strand of her wavy blonde hair between his fingers. Glancing at his knees all the while, he mumbles his response to his knees that, Dean’s sure, are very great to be included in Cas’s obviously exclusive secret, given how damn quiet that was.

“What was that, Cas?” Dean asks. Cas looks directly at him and replies, “I said, I’d fucking love to spend the rest of my life with you, asshat!”

Dean does a double take; surely those words didn’t come from Cas’s mouth. Surely that brilliant crimson blush coloring Cas from hairline to somewhere beneath his neckline was caused by something unrelated. Surely he didn’t hear a thinly veiled plea for a proposal, if not a **proposal** , coming from his boyfriend’s lips. No, surely he’s mistaken.

“Um...” is the ingenious response Dean can come up with, and he feels all of the blood in his body rush to his face, coloring it a likely fluorescent shade of pink. “I, uh... wow,” comes the second attempt to say something existential and intelligent. Of course, his smarts fail to impress Cas, whose head is now safely tucked under his hands, shielded from the eyes of both Dean and Jess. Though, when Dean scans the room for Jess, he can just catch the flash of gold hair as she sprints out of the room.

Dean clears his throat and tries again. “Cas, I... you know I love you more than everything in the world. Really. It’s just, well. I mean, I’m okay with doing this thing if you want to.” Dean lets the words rush out of his mouth. He’s been prepared for something like this happening. He just didn’t think it would happen so early in their relationship or that Cas would also be interested in future prospects.

Future prospects. Like standing at an alter. Like vacationing and tacking on each other’s last names. Like children. Dean _knows_ Cas would want children, and though Dean would never admit it to anyone, he would love to have a kid when he’s a little older.

He’s thinking too far ahead. He retreats from his thoughts and sees Cas peeking an eye out from beneath his fingers. The blush has receded slightly, if that’s any hint that he’s listening. Dean takes this as invitation to elaborate.

“Look, I, uh, have a ring. If that’s what you want and stuff. It was my grand-dad’s, but he’s, erm, dead now.” God, that was awful. “I’ll, uh, be right back. I’m gonna go get it.”

Dean flees from the room to grab the little black box that has been tucked between their mattresses for two months now. He trips over his own feet three times in the process and apologizes to the wall when he bumps into it. Winchester men are **not** clumsy; where the hell is all of this coming from?

He ducks into their pigsty of a room and stuffs his arm under Cas’s side of the mattress. Fumbling around until he feels the velvet, Dean replays what just happened in his mind. Cas, his Cas, wanted to do this forever. Well, not forever, but as long as they aren’t completely annoyed with each other. Castiel Novak, the cold barista he’d known long ago, now his Cas wants to get hitched. He can’t help the little smile that breaks out on his face without his permission, but he doesn’t make any move to stop it.

As soon as he locates the box, he checks that the ring is still in it (it is) and rushes back into Cas’s workroom, bypassing Jess who has positioned herself on the staircase so she can hear everything and bee lining to his Castiel, his love.

He slams the door against the wall and hurdles himself over the desk, just missing the pile of papers that have been finalized and finished. After he nearly topples feet first into Cas’s lap, he pulls his feet downward so he lands in a squat. Once he’s righted himself, he arranges his body so he’s in typical go position for this kind of romantic junk.

Cas’s hands haven’t pulled away from his face, still lobster red. His eyes are focused directly on Dean, however. And his cheeks are pulled slightly, as though he can’t stop a grin from making it’s home on his face. As Dean fumbles with the little box, Castiel pulls his hands off his face one by one, revealing that rare but so wonderfully amazing smile that has only ever graced Dean’s presence and his presence alone.

Once the box is open, displaying the beautiful golden braided band, Dean ducks his chin so Cas can’t see the ridiculously dopey grin on his own face. He brings his hands, in them the tightly grasped box, to rest on Cas’s lap and doesn’t say anything when those warm fingers encompass his own.

He clears his throat, making an annoyingly loud grating noise in the static quiet. _Screw it_ , Dean thinks, _this is going to be awesome_. He looks up into Cas’s eyes, blue locking with green, and opens his mouth to speak the words their family’s had hoped would be spoke.

“So, uh, Castiel. Want to be my forever? To the end of space and time, right?” he asks, knowing Cas would pick up on his cheesiness. Cas’s baby blues dance Technicolor patterns, and Dean swears he sees entire galaxies forming in his eyes. The question hangs in the air, light but heavy. Binding and fleeting.

The grandfather clock on the first floor suddenly rings. Four full peals; its another day. Cas smiles down at him and wraps his hands around Dean’s neck.

“Look at that. It’s your birthday.” And he pulls Dean up while leaning down, meeting halfway in that affirmative kiss. They break and Cas’s lips drag across his face until little puffs of air tickle Dean’s air. “It would be my honor, Dean Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really late, and I apologize. But my excuse is that I wanted this to be absolutely perfect. I hope you all like this chapter; it took a good amount of my daily emotional allowance to write.


	9. It's Go Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel consummate their engagement. To celebrate Dean's birthday, Castiel comes up with an almost impromptu surprise that stuns both himself and Sam and Jess. Jess knows something she shouldn't, as does Sam. The two figure out how to break the news of their engagement to Mary. Also, this chapter includes John Winchester's official entrance as a character.

“Oh... Dean, you don’t know how much I love you,” Cas breathes as Dean presses wet open-mouthed kisses to his mouth. After Dean had picked himself up off the floor and Cas had managed to restrain himself for a long enough period of time to affirm that he did, in fact, want to marry Dean, he’d all but dragged Dean into their bed.

 “I do, you idiot. Why else would I propose?” Dean asks, his hand skating down Cas’s now exposed chest, tracing along the slightly padded ribs and over the scars his brother had given him all of those years ago. “I... ohh, just like that, babe... love you more than that Impala sitting in my garage.”

Cas thrusts against Dean’s hips, his hard-on even more evidenced by Dean’s hand swirling patterns just above his waistband. He tugs on it and Cas gives in and stands, pulling his jeans and boxers off simultaneously. “Wow, more than the Impala? You _must_ love me... yes, right there.”

Dean takes Cas’s cock in his hand and pumps it several times, rubbing his calloused thumb over the tip. Cas bucks into his grip, thrusting in time with his tugs. Dean slowly scoots up the bed and into sitting position, dragging their bodies together and crashing his mouth into Cas’s.

“Let’s get rid of these,” Cas mumbles against the point of Dean’s chin as he unzips the jeans still resting on Dean’s hips. He brushes Dean’s hands away when he tries to help and clamors to his stomach, bringing his mouth to rest just above the waistband. Those baby blues, engulfed in the black of Cas’s arousal, bore holes into Dean when Cas purrs, “Want me to use my teeth?”        

And it’s a wonder that Dean didn’t come right there; he’s bombarded by the sight of Cas’s bare ass in the air as he waits for Dean to answer and the _fucking purrs_ this man, his fiancé, can make. Dean looks back down at Cas and nods, a quick jerking nod, and watches as Cas sets his hands on Dean’s ass and brings his teeth to rest just at the edge of the course fabric. 

Slowly, so they drag, Cas pulls off his jeans. Slowly, he brings his lips back up to mouth and Dean’s cock, already leaking out his desires. Dean stops himself from fucking into Cas’s mouth; he doesn’t want to choke the man whom he chose to devote his life to. When Cas wraps his lips around the head and suckles at it, obscenely, Dean throws his head back in pure ecstasy.

 “Oh fuck, Cas. Just like that... God,” Dean groans, his head banging into the headboard of their bed. He can’t help himself; he lets himself thrust into the heat just once before pulling out completely and winking at the disappointment resting on Cas’s brow.

“Just hold on a sec, Cas.” Dean reclines so his back is pressed to the mattress and spreads his legs in invitation. Cas’s eyes beam and for a moment, his face is completely open. Dean watches as love, lust, happiness, and a little bit of worry dance in his eyes. But it passes, and Cas grins mischievously as usual.

 “‘Kay, lemme grab something,” Cas mutters, making for the drawer. Dean turns his head to watch his boyfriend retrieve the lube they always keep there and what is probably among the last of their condoms. Dean places a hand on Cas’s to stop him.

“We don’t need that, buddy.” Dean takes the little wrapped piece of latex and tosses it to the corner of his room where it’ll lie forgotten until the morning. Cas stares at him, that worry homing in on his face again. Dean doesn’t like it. “Hey, we’re both clean. We know that. And, well... shit Cas. What else do you want me to say, we’re gonna get married for fuck’s sake!”

Dean grips Cas by his hips and pulls him so his chest is pressed flush against Dean’s. Cas makes a startled little noise, like a fucking Disney princess, and gazes at him with a doe-eyed expression.         

 “But, that’s not a good idea. The tests might’ve missed something, what if it hurts? Dean, I’ve never... **not** used them.” The skin between Cas’s brows wrinkles up in an accordial way and Dean presses his lips to them to soothe those lines. “It’s okay, babe. It’s not going to hurt me. Don’t worry,” he mumbles against Cas’s temple.

He waits until Cas nods against his cheek with a muttered ‘okay’ before he pulls the other man between his parted legs. Cas pops the lid of the little bottle and generously coats his fingers in a layer of lube before pushing in his index finger. Dean squirms slightly, still not used to the intrusion after all this time. Cas looks a little terrified for a second, and Dean glares at him until he carries on.

Gradually, Dean adjusts and opens up. Soon enough, Cas is adding a second finger, then a third until he’s buried to the knuckle in Dean. He swirls them within Dean, crooking up his index finger so it slams directly into his prostate. Dean bucks into the empty air, begging for friction.

“More Cas. Now,” Dean huffs out, seeing stars. Cas removes his fingers one by one and reclaims the lube again; this time, he coats his cock, adding an extra layer in a very Cas-like precautionary fashion.

And he returns. Dean can _feel_ the head breaching his hole, can _feel_ the length of Cas as he presses into Dean with a long moan. He can feel the little hairs decorating the base of Cas’s dick pressing against the sensitive skin of his ass; Cas is fully sheathed within Dean. He shifts so his hips lie in a more comfortable way against Cas and ends up with his stomach clenched uncomfortably. Cas notices and stuffs a pillow under his lower back, being mindful of his current position.

He draws out, carefully, not wanting to cause Dean any friction burn. And then he slams back in with strength great enough to dent the wall slightly. Fortunately for Dean, Cas hits directly into his prostate and he jerks, spasming as his body radiates from the sheer amount of pleasure consuming his very being.

“You okay?” Cas grunts somewhere above him. Dean realizes his eyes are squished shut and he carefully opens them to see Cas visibly shaking above him, sweat beading at his brow. Those eyebrows are set in a somewhat concerned form; however, what’s most evident is his resistance to the bliss currently engulfing him. It’s obvious in his eyes, irises completely blown to a tiny sliver of blue visible only if Dean really squints, and the radiant scarlet rolling and transforming under his pale, albeit glowing, skin.

“Yeah, fucking _move_ dammit,” Dean grunts, shimming his hips downward to catch Cas’s head against his prostate again. Cas takes the hint and thrusts in unison with Dean’s grinds. They increase in tempo together, Cas letting out shrill moans and hushed ‘fucks’ and Dean outright gasping every time Cas slams home in just the right way.

It only takes a few minutes for Dean to come; Cas only needs to sink in once more before Dean is shooting hot stripes of white across his stomach. The sheer contact of _Cas_ , of the lack of barriers between the two of them, was enough to do Dean in within fifteen minutes. Dean can feel himself clenching around Cas as he slams into Dean again and again, quickly reaching his own orgasm. Cas shoots his load into Dean; warm, wet come fills him up and Cas collapses atop him.       

They breathe into each other’s mouths as they gather their breath for a few moments. Cas smiles a delicate little thing and examines Dean’s face for any signs of distress. Of course, Dean doesn’t believe there are any and he puts on his most pleased expression, though it’s not hard considering the best sex he’s had has been with Cas, and smiles in return at his love.

“I suppose that was an adequate consummation of our engagement, eh Cas?” Dean asks, allowing a grin to bloom on his lips. Cas winks at him, allowing that same grin, only multiplied about nine hundred times with added sexiness, to break across his face.

“Yeah, I guess ‘adequate’ will suffice,” Cas answers, bringing a hand to rest on Dean’s cheek. “Though it’s not my first choice of descriptor, to be honest.”

“Oh yeah? What would you call it then, Mr. Expert?” Dean slowly removes himself from Cas’s now soft member. He feels somewhat sticky but he doesn’t really mind. Cas shifts so he lies beside Dean on their bed, moving Dean’s arm under his head as an added cushion. Dean watches as those sapphire orbs, now fully blue again, are concealed by Cas’s fluttering eyelids.

“I’d call it wonderful, Dean.” Cas whispers, his head reclining into Dean’s touch wholly. Dean pushes a leg between Cas’s and pulls the blankets, which ended up gathered at the bottom of the bed, over the pair of them. He snuggles his way into Cas’s grip and relaxes when he swings an arm over Dean’s waist.

“Yeah, me too, Cas. Me too.” And he allows his eyes to shut, letting the inviting hands of darkness lull him into a comfortable and dreamless sleep.

* * *

* * *

Castiel wakes with a start, a coat of dried and crusty semen on his stomach. Dean is still snoring beside him, his legs sprawled and his arms wrapped around Castiel’s waist. He slowly extracts himself, being extremely careful not to wake Dean and makes his way for the shower.

As he wanders into the bathroom, he halts for a moment, fully realizing what has happened in the past twenty-four hours. Castiel, the unappealing and abrupt Cas Novak, is engaged. Not only is he engaged, but also he’s found someone he loves above anything else he has encountered. Dean is... well, he’s kind of beautiful. Not in the sense of looks, though he is pretty hot, but more in his hidden intellect. He’s a genius without flaunting it; he’s a total dork, subtly. He’s just about the best Castiel could ask for.

He smiles to himself as he turns on the faucet and grabs his toothbrush. He looks a mess; his hair is spikey in tufts and flattened across his forehead. There are small bags under his eyes, but he’s used to that. What he’s not used to is the glow his skin has. Whenever Castiel has sex, he looks ashen and pale and in need of a burger. He still looks hungry, but his skin doesn’t have the pallor it normally does. He looks happy.

Castiel brushes his teeth and turns of the faucet to arrange his hair into something more flattering. Then, he walks back to their bedroom and flops on the bed beside Dean who’s still snoring. He looks more innocent when he sleeps. His eyelashes drape intricate shadows over his cheeks, his slightly reddened lips are parted as he breathes, his freckles are all the more visible with the sunlight wafting in through the open window.

Castiel grins and brings his lips to Dean’s; they’re soft, and a little slick. Dean stirs and tugs one of his arms out of the covers to tug Castiel against his chest. Castiel squirms, it’s almost ten in the morning; Dean should be getting up. He brings a hand to rest on Dean’s shoulder and shakes it slightly, trying to rouse his fiancé.

“‘Nng, stop it. It’s m’birthday,” Dean groans, tugging the sheets over his head. Castiel sighs and shakes him again, pulling the covers off of his head and climbing out of the lush bed. “Cas!”

“You’re right, it _is_ your birthday. Your mom’s probably going to be here soon,” Castiel mutters, turning his attention to the massive closet to pick out some clothes for the two of them. He ducks in and grabs two sets of jeans and two shirts. He tosses half of his findings onto the bed and frowns as Dean releases another string of grumbled profanities.

“She’s not here yet,” Dean says, taking on an argumentative tone. Ugh, they’re going to be stuck up here for hours if Dean is planning on being stubborn. Castiel replies to his objections with a counter, “But Sam and Jess are.”

Sam and Jess are to be married in just over four months and the planning is hectic, to say the least. Dean and Castiel had been forced to get involved when it became too much for Mary, Sam, Jess, and ‘John’-though he hasn’t really contributed at all. Mary has been a fucking superhero about the whole affair; not only is she paying for the entire thing, but she’s planned a good deal of it from the seating arrangements to what colors would look best with Jess’s dress.

John had driven up from Kansas about a month ago to ‘help’. He’d spent a vast majority of his visit drunk off his ass and complaining about how he’d ended up with ‘pansy ass sons’ and contributed jeers at Sam’s chosen field as a prospective lawyer. Castiel had been astonished at the way he’d spoken to Dean. At more than one point in _one_ dinner, John had managed to say he wants the Winchester name back from Dean and that he doesn’t want a ‘ _damn buttfucking queer_ ’ disgracing his daddy’s name.

Castiel was about to punch the man when he started on a tirade regarding Dean’s life choices when Mary interceded.

“Oh, so you don’t like having a non-straight son? Well, if I recall high school correctly, we started dating after you went out with... What was his name? Azazel?” Mary sneered, looking at John with the most disgusted expression on her face. Castiel knows Mary hates hypocrisy- a hatred that was borne from her relationship with John. He just didn’t know it was this bad.

“You know that ain’t true!” John had yelled back. Mary, who has definitely experienced this area of conversation with this man before, simply shrugged and replied with, “Just ‘cause you’re uncomfortable with your bisexuality doesn’t mean your son is.”

To which John went on a drunken invective about how his life was in the crapper and that his family was never going to amount to anything. He hadn’t spoken about or to Castiel throughout his entire visit, which Castiel supposes should be a good thing, though he suspects he took out his frustrations about Castiel on Dean when he wasn’t there.

Now, however, John is gone and everything is running smoothly in the Campbell-Moore-Novak household. Their arrangements are all but completed, down to the very last detail of Jess and Sam taking the Campbell family name without any objections. Castiel had watched the whole affair be planned from the sidelines, only doing what was asked of him. Dean had been more involved, ensuring that Sam only had trusted friends to stand beside him, which included Castiel.

Planning has been over for about three days now and they’re just making sure everything is perfect. Now that they’ve finished, Castiel has pushed for a big party for Dean as he’s turning thirty. It’s his birthday today and they’ve arranged to drag him out for brunch. What Castiel hasn’t told them is he’d scheduled the two of them on a flight out to Hawaii for two days; it was the best he could do with his meager funds.

But, he’s woken up early to break the news to Sam and Jess, and to call Mary. Castiel stuffs himself into his jeans and tugs the shirt over his head. Dean is finally awake, reclining on his elbows with a small smile as he watches Castiel dress. Castiel takes Dean’s jeans and tosses them at his boyfriends face.

“Go pack some clothes; we’re going somewhere later,” Castiel mumbles, pulling his socks on. Dean looks at him with a bemused expression and scoots so he’s seated. “Where?” he asks.

“It’s a surprise. Go shower and make yourself presentable, I need to talk to you’re brothers.” Castiel jogs out of the door and heads to the dining room where Jess is lacing up her sneakers. She looks at him warmly and smiles.

“Good morning, Cas.” She finishes off the knot with a flourish and stands to hug him. He accepts it in stride and pulls away to press a kiss to her cheek. Now she’s confused. “Okay Cas. What did you do?”

Damn, that perception; she’s going to be a great lawyer. He offers her a sheepish grin and motions with his hand that she should take a seat. She obliges him and rests her feet atop the table.

“So, what’s the deal?” She asks, scrutinizing him. Castiel fidgets in his seat, not meeting her eyes. He didn’t plan this well enough. When he doesn’t bite, she places a hand on his knee and squeezes until he answers.

“Ouch! All right, fine, Jess. I’m taking Dean to Hawaii tonight,” he says, rushing his words. He can’t raise his eyes from his toes; he _knows_ that Jess had something planned, he just didn’t know what.

Instead of getting the harsh reaction he expects, however, Jess lays a manicured finger beneath his chin and pushes his head up so he can meet her curious eyes. She tilts her head, something she’d adopted from him, and says, “Okay, hon.”

Okay, hon? That’s all? Castiel pulls away from her grip, trying to see the loopholes in her words. Unfortunately, he can’t find any which leads him to be even more suspicious. “Okay...” he says suspiciously, eyeing Jess as best he can. She simply shrugs and stands to walk around the counter and grab her protein shake. Shit, he’s in trouble.

“Yeah, you two crazy kids have fun,” she says with a wink before heading out. Whatever, Castiel will take what he can get. He heaves himself up and walks to their large bedroom in the basement to find Sam. He knocks on the door, three quick raps, and is awarded a ‘Yeah, yeah, come in’.

Castiel tentatively pushes the door open, not wanting to intrude. He’s only been in Sam and Jess’s room a handful of times, the majority of which were because Jess wanted to educate him on how to carry himself when he’s finally published. Sam, whom he is less close with, invited him in to show him what he’s going to do. He helped him study for the LSAT, and thank god Sam’s smart because Castiel served as more of a textbook mouthpiece than anything else.

“Hey, Sam? May I come in?” Castiel hates being shy about entering people’s rooms, but after Balthazar, he’s learned to be careful. Sam looks over his shoulder from where he’s pulling on a pair of sweats and smiles at him. “Yeah, Cas. What do ya’ need?” he asks, his puppy dog eyes shining.

“I’ve, uh, got to tell you something,” Castiel begins. And fuck if he has to tell him something. He’s got to tell him _everything_. They’re going to be brothers, eventually. “I’m taking Dean to Hawaii tonight. Just for a couple days.” Castiel finishes hastily.

Sam turns fully so Castiel can see the expanse of Sam’s muscular torso; Jess is a lucky girl. Castiel shifts his eyes back to Sam’s face and examines him. Sam eyes him with a smile dancing in his eyes. “Why?” The grin is in his goddamned voice too.

“Because it’ s his birthday?” Castiel replies. At least, that had been the plan earlier. Now it would seem like more to Dean. Sam, like Jess, shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his business. Just as Castiel is backing out of the doorway, however, Sam stops him with another question.

“Did Dean ask you anything last night?” Sam asks. Castiel halts and rotates back toward Sam. The knowing expression on his face says it all. That grin moved from his eyes to his whole face, exploded like a ray of sunshine. Dean told his brother first.

“Um...” Castiel answers, letting his writer’s genius make an appearance. Sam bursts out chortling; laughing so hard tears are falling down his cheeks. Castiel just glares at him, waiting for this awkwardness to eradicate itself from his life.

When Sam finishes and after wiping his eyes, he sighs and rubs his belly. Then, he clears his throat and asks, “So what did you say?” Which prompts Castiel to blush ferociously and gaze longingly at the floor, wishing it would swallow him up.

“I said yes,” Castiel mumbles, knowing Sam couldn’t possibly have heard him. Sam, of course, walks up to him and swings his arm over Castiel’s shoulders. “What was that, buddy?”

“YES! God dammit, I hate you,” Castiel growls, feeling the blush creep from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down his neck. God, when did he become such a fucking dope? He’s still staring at the ground when Sam pulls him in for a suffocating hug, effectively choking off Castiel’s air supply.

After a moment, however, he lets him go and uses his tremendous height advantage to pat Castiel’s head. He looks up, curious at Sam’s coolness about this whole thing. He hasn’t even told Jess, let alone Mary, or his own family yet. Naomi’s going to have a fit. Sam just smiles at him fondly and ruffles his hair.

“Well, cool beans. I can call you brother,” Sam mumbles. He lets Castiel go completely and grabs a shirt. He pulls it over his head and turns back to Castiel with a mussed bedhead. “By the way, you’re standing next to Dean at the wedding. Jess wanted to fix it now that y’all are going to be husbands and all.”

“Fucking... Jess knew too?! Does Mary?” Castiel asks. So that’s why Jess had been so suspicious this morning. She’d seen through Castiel’s happiness and jitteriness and had known why he was so happy. He’s going to have to steal her Colombia import grade A coffee.

“Not Mom, but yeah, everyone knows. Speaking of, Dean called Gabe and I think he’s coming over today with five or nine male strippers,” Sam mentions offhandedly, as though it’s not a huge issue. Gabe really doesn’t understand social convention differences between marriage and engagement, as far as bachelor parties go.

“Fuck, okay. Well, we’re going out in about an hour or so for food, so be back from your run by then.” Sam nods and Castiel offers him a parting grimace before heading out the door and back up the stairs. He finds Dean reclining on the beanbag chair in the living room, watching an old rerun of the Looney Toons. Castiel is glad to notice that Dean appears dressed and showered.

“‘Morning,” he mutters as he flops beside his friend on the couch. Dean mutters a ‘morning in reply and tugs Castiel against his side. “What’s the plan, my man?” He asks.

“That was terrible... We’re going to go get brunch at Amelia’s, then I’m taking you somewhere special,” Castiel mumbles into Dean’s arm, pillowed beneath his chin.

“‘Somewhere special,’ eh? Gee Cas, don’t sugar coat it,” Dean snarks in reply. Castiel chucks a pillow at him and chuckles when he hears Dean ‘oof’. “Fine, don’t tell me, you little shit. I’ll ask Sammy.” Dean pushes himself onto his elbows and makes to stand but Castiel stops him by rolling over.

“I’ve sworn him to secrecy, fucker. I win, you lose,” Castiel murmurs in his most gentle tone. Dean eyes him before he flips their positions and pins him to the squishy chair.

“Oh really,” he purrs, ducking down to mouth at Castiel’s neck. He latches his lips onto _that spot_ and sucks, making obscene sounds as he does so. Castiel can’t help it; he moans, a high-pitched needy sound, and bucks against Dean. Dean, being the bastard he is, moves his hands from where they prop him above Castiel to restrain his hips, pulling his mouth away for a moment.

“You wanted to do something special for me?” Dean whispers, his mouth skirting Castiel’s jaw. He nods ardently in responds, searching for friction between Dean’s hips. His grip only tightens and renders Castiel immobile from the waist down. “What is it, hon?” Dean purrs. Ugh, Castiel doesn’t like when Dean uses superficial pet names; they’re for couples that run out of things to talk about.

He shivers beneath Dean and cringes into the cushion. “Don’t call me ‘hon’, Dean. It makes my skin crawl!” Castiel yelps. Dean just smiles and brings his mouth back to Castiel’s neck, sucking a little bruise into the side. He loves giving Castiel hickeys; on more than one occasion, Castiel awoken with the little bruises decorating his chest and neck. Dean’s kind of possessive in a goofy way.

Dean pulls away with a smirk and wraps Castiel up in a cocoon of his arms and legs. Thank god Sam and Jess aren’t home to see them cuddling in front of the television. Castiel can’t stop the grin from spreading across his lips, engulfing his face in a Cheshire-like expression. Dean glances down at him and answers his grin with one of his own.

“What are you so happy about?” Dean asks, his forehead scrunching in curiosity. Castiel brings a hand to rest on his fiancé’s cheek. “Because I like you,” he answers. Dean’s face heats, much like it did when they were both sober and confessing their love for one another.

“I... Me too, buddy. Me too,” Dean murmurs, stroking the little hairs at the nape of Castiel’s neck. He purrs a bit and allows himself to warm in Dean’s embrace.

They cuddle like that for a while; god knows how long, but soon enough, Jess is stomping into the room yelling, “Where’s the birthday boyyyy?!”

Dean, who has fallen asleep, stirs slightly and pulls Castiel even closer. Castiel is fucking embarrassed, of course, because this is not the first time Jess has walked in on them doing something. This would actually be considered one of the less inappropriate instances when they were caught together.

“Dean, wake up,” Castiel hisses against Dean’s cheek. He stirs again, those beautiful green eyes fluttering open. Castiel feels the blush on his cheeks when those eyes home in on him, just like he always does. Dean’s chest rumbles with barely concealed laughter and Castiel clamps a hand over his mouth to shut him up. At least if Jess thinks they’re asleep she’ll leave them alone.

His efforts prove fruitless and Jess jumps into their now uncomfortably warm embrace. She presses kisses to both of their faces in attempts to get their attention. It works.

“Time to go out, my lovely pair of brothers!” She yells in a singsong Disney princess tone. Dean instantly develops an anguished expression and mutters ‘make it stop’ repeatedly. Castiel just stares at her. The fact that this woman could be so intelligent yet so immature constantly baffles him.

“Where are we going?” Dean asks, not at all bothered by her calling the pair of them her brothers. And it shouldn’t; whether or not, they are family. Just a sort of unusual family.

“Amy’s shop! She’s given us a room to ourselves, and Mary’s already there.” She pauses and shoves at them until she’s standing again. “So I suggest you two idiots quit your groping and join me and Sam on a road trip,” she places her hands on her hips as she finishes. Castiel sighs and disentangles himself from Dean’s grasp, taking Jess’s offered hand.

“Yeah, let’s get to it.” he mutters.

* * *

* * *

They arrive at Amelia’s Bakery within five minutes of their reservation. Mary’s already there, just as promised, and is chatting up a handsome older fellow at the counter. Dean walks up to the two of them and interrupts his mom’s flirtations, obnoxiously speaking over whatever the man was saying.

Castiel merrily watches as everyone else files in beside him, startled when Sam takes his elbow and pulls him along side his long strides. He’s directed into one of the backrooms by an employee he’d never seen before and takes a seat at a booth in the back. Sam and Jess claim the bench across from him; Sam wraps his arm around Jess and she tucks herself into it exuberantly.

Dean and Mary enter moments later, no sign of Mr. Handsome, and Amy follows behind them. Dean scoots in beside him, and closer still when Mary takes their side of the booth. Like Sam, Dean wraps his arm around Castiel. Unlike Jess, Castiel doesn’t tuck himself into Dean’s side so much as let his palm fall onto his thigh and his fingers dance dangerously close to his boyfriend’s crotch.

Mary, who is obliviously chatting up Amy, doesn’t notice, thank god. Jess and Sam _do,_ however, and Castiel can tell by the expression on Dean’s face that they’re both going to get shit for that. Mary cuts off their conversation for a moment as Amy pulls out a pen and pad.

“What’ll it be, Dean? Birthday boy gets first pick,” she says. Dean recites off his usual, the pig and a poke, and asks for a cherry pie. Amy nods with a grin and turns her attention to the rest of the table.

Everyone orders relatively quickly and their food arrives shortly. Brunch is spent mostly in silence, the two couples trying most vehemently to ignore the elephant in the room. The elephant being Mary’s ignorance on the recent advancement in Dean and Castiel’s relationship. After a while, however, Mary seems to pick up on the fact that something isn’t right and speaks up.

“Okay, what’s up? You’re all acting like startled animals,” she mutters, setting her silverware on the edges of her plate. Everyone shifts their attention to their food so quickly and so in sync that it becomes impossible to create a believable excuse.

Dean is the first to look up from his somewhat shameful state. He should be; he did, after all, go through with this by telling Sam and Jess. He should be the one to tell his mother. Of course, that’s what Castiel tells himself as to alleviate the guilt.

“Seriously, do I look like I bite?” she asks, her voice raising an octave. Dean shifts, his hand now firmly clenching Castiel’s and addresses his mother.

“No, Mom. You don’t. We’ve, uh, got something to tell you, actually,” he says, his eyes shifting from Castiel to his mother. Castiel is forced to straighten his spine and address what will be his mother-in-law. “Actually, Cas is _dying_ to tell you.”

That asshole! Castiel turns to glare at him but is rewarded with a smug expression. Dean mouths ‘it’s my birthday’ and Castiel almost groans from his idiocy. He clears his throat and turns his attention back to Mary.

“Um, well, it was actually Dean’s idea really. He’s the one that suggested it.” Castiel wiggles his eyebrows at Dean. Shifting the responsibility is nice. Dean looks astonished that Castiel didn’t just cave and tell Mary himself. Castiel shrugs and lets go of Dean’s hand.

 “Will you two little shits just tell me?” Mary demands, scrutinizing the both of them and breaking their visual conversation. Dean and Castiel jump slightly at her words and, in unison, rotate to meet her eyes. “How about both of you, at the same time,” Mary suggests, her tone gentler.

Castiel looks at Dean at the same time as Dean looks at him. They smile at each other. ‘Okay, this is fair.’ Castiel tries to communicate through his eyes. Appallingly, Dean understands and replies with, ‘Okay, in one... two... three!’ The both turn to look Mary in the eye and speak simultaneously.

 “We’re getting married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the chapter that brings me past one-hundred pages. For those of you still reading this, I salute you and thank you. This has been fun to write; I hope it continues as smoothly as it has been going this past month.


	10. Let's Have a Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel break the news of their upcoming nuptials to Mary. Sam and Jess have a surprise announcement. Dean and Castiel make preparations for their little vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry about how late I am updating. It's been a busy couple of weeks and I've had loads of coursework while having to go to the hospital twice. In addition to this chapter a rather short follow up with the beginning of Hawaii will be posted on Saturday. Thank you for reading!

Mary leans back in her chair, a slightly puzzled and gaping stare on her face. She opens her mouth, once, twice, and then shuts it again. She places her hands on the table and gives Sam and Jess what look to be doe eyes for a moment before she stands and dances in a little circle just beside their table.     

“You two finally did it! One of you grew a fucking pair and did it!” She exclaims, her oddly demonic dancing freaking Dean the fuck out. After a moment, she notices their baffled looks of mixed confusion and waves a hand at them. Her cheeks are flushed from what is presumably excitement. “You boys, oh my god, you two boys,” she mumbles to no one in particular.

Dean glances Cas and they share an expression of bafflement before turning back to stare at Mary, hoping that will result in affirmation of her happiness over what will be their upcoming nuptials. Mary simply dabs at the corners of her eyes with the violet cloth napkin resting upon the table and takes a moment to ensure that she looks presentable. When she’s finished, she turns to address the four of them.

“My boys are getting married! This calls for a party... no, two parties... no _eleven_ parties!” She pulls out her iPhone and begins tapping in a number onto the dial pad. Dean quickly reaches over, stopping her giddy daze before she can do any real damage. He passes the phone to Cas, who has a scarlet blush threatening to burst from his pores displayed on his cheeks. Dean shoots him a wink and is rewarded with that lovely red deepening, before he pulls his fiancé in for a kiss.

“Mom’s cool with it, dude,” Dean whispers in his ear. Cas gives him the tiniest of smiles, his eyes showing more emotion than he would’ve suspected Cas of possessing. He bends down and claims those soft pink lips in his once more, swiping his tongue over his lower lip in promise for tonight.

“Yeah, she’s cool with it,” Cas whispers back. At this point, Sam and Jess are probably throwing up in some corner from the bitter sweetness of it all; and Dean wouldn’t blame either of them. When they got engaged, he avoided them like peasants would the plague.

Cas rests a hand on Dean’s thigh when they break, not really erotically, more in the sense of affirmation of their union. Of course, Mary takes the opportunity they’ve given her to coo at them obscenely; making the both of them feel as significant as six-year-olds again.

“Could you chill out?” Dean asks, fed up with his mom’s patronizing. Cas tugs on his knee, warning him not to cross this road when everyone’s happy. Dean doesn’t really heed the warning as much he should. “We’re not even married yet, and you should be worrying more over Sam and Jess’s wedding. It’s coming up in a couple months.”

“Actually, we have to talk to you guys about that,” Sam begins, but is quickly interrupted by Mary. “Honey, I do think it’s a pretty big deal. You’re... well, Dean, you’re gay. You can’t exactly get married anywhere you please. It’s difficult to plan a marriage, let alone a same-sex marriage, so I’ll worry about what I want to, thank you very much.” Mary harrumphs and folds her arms over her chest, ending the discussion.

Well, Dean thought she wanted to end it but Sam being Sam continues. “We’re moving the date up because Jess got hired at a firm beginning in early April. So we were thinking maybe later next month or...” Sam trails off, wisely shutting up as Mary’s eyes slowly widen with a combination of murderous rage and exasperation.

“Sammy, dear, you _know_ how much time we put into that,” Mary growls, an extremely false smile plastered onto her face. It’s understandable, really, Mom worked like hell to plan this whole thing. She’s paying for it; changing plans now would cost a shit ton of money.

“Yeah, Mom, I do. I was there,” Sam replies, he pulls Jess tight against his chest and looks Mary dead in the eye. “But if we we’re together officially by the time Jess is hired, it would make it easier to move around. And we’d probably be better known in law as far as being married goes.”

Dean peeks over at Cas, noticing that he’s being awfully quiet for someone who’s generally extremely opinionated. His mouth is tightly shut and his eyes are on the tiled table. Dean wraps his hand around the somber man’s thigh and leans over to whisper in his ear.

“What’s wrong?” Cas jumps slightly and offers Dean a small smile as he reestablishes himself. He prods at Dean’s hand until he removes the unwelcomed contact.

“Nothing,” Cas replies, and Dean glares at the false note in his voice. Cas sighs, rubbing a hand over his brow when he has to elaborate. “Your mother is right. About gay marriage not being as easy as traditional marriage.”

Dean stills, shocked by the admission on Cas’s part. He knows that Cas wants him as much as he wants Cas; he knows this, yet, it’s still disheartening to hear the words fall from his lips. Damn depressing, actually.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Cas.” Dean slides his hand down to Cas’s and relaxes when Cas’s fingers clench around his in a vise that likely won’t be broken for a while. No one else at the table seemed to notice their absence from the topic of discussion at hand. As a matter of fact, they all look to be caught in the middle of a rather contentious argument.

“We’ll do it when we fucking want to, Mary!” Jess hisses, her eyes squinted into tiny blue slits and directed at Mary. Sam doesn’t look too far from her opinion; his arm is no longer around Jess, now it’s on the table and clenched within the other. “We’ll pay you back if that’s what you really want.”

“What I really want is some goddamn peace before the stress of being a grandma really sets in. Really, kids, I don’t mind you pushing up the date. But, if it’s really so abrupt as it seems, you can always just take a vacation and do it anyways!” Mary yells right back, her cheeks reddened with frustration.

“You guys-” Dean starts, but quickly shuts up when everyone glares daggers at him. Damn, he didn’t notice it getting this bad. He tries again, “Please.”

“Shut up, Dean. This isn’t your fight,” Jess mutters, momentarily relaxing. At least he provided a momentary distraction. Sam and Jess visibly unwind, albeit a tiny amount, and Dean allows himself to slump back against the cushioned booth.

It is at that moment that Cas decides to make an appearance in their little debacle. “Everyone should just shut the fuck up,” Cas growls, his presence exemplified by the utter and unbending authority his voice commandeers. “You are being children. Firstly, when trying to argue something with the fucking woman who’s _paying_ for your goddamned expensive wedding, it’s best you be respectable about it. Secondly, if you’re going to be this pigheaded about something that could easily and cheaply be changed, then you are just as bad as they are, Mary. A date can be moved over the fucking phone.”

Castiel removes his hand from Dean’s and splays them across the table in an extremely intimidating and absolute position. “And, you’re all forgetting one major detail. It’s Dean’s birthday. Is this really the place to be arguing freaking _wedding arrangements_? It’s called a celebration for a reason and you all seem to be forgetting why. So shut up and shove it where you got it.”

That was... damn. Cas sits, his back erect, on the edge of the seat. His mouth is set with grim determination to knock a bitch flat, regardless of who the bitch may be. His eyes seem to have grown brighter, that brilliant azure almost glowing incandescently in the mid-morning light. If Dean didn’t know any better, and he does, he’d say Cas looked like an apostle.

Apparently, Sam and Jess are of the same opinion. Sam fidgets in his seat, trying to meet Cas’s gaze but failing miserably when his chin quivers and shifts his attention to picking at an invisible scab on his thumb. Jess, who has more backbone, juts out her jaw for a moment in Cas’s direction, but folding after just a moment and resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. The only person who appears to be less affected by Cas’s awesomeness is Mary.

“Cas, I’m going to be your mother. You best show me some respect,” She says, her voice in that cautious calm it takes when she’s planning something horrible. “That being said, you’re right.”

What? Dean is puzzled by his mom’s acceptance over Cas’s protests. Then again, she has shown false contention at Dean’s arguments before; why should she change her stance just because of Cas?

Evidently, Dean was wrong about his mom being done saying whatever she felt needed to be said and is drawn back to her words. “Dean, honey, I know this is all happening around your birthday. And I know that it’s stressful on all of us; so I’m sorry that I ruined your day. Especially the day you turn thirty.”

She’s actually sorry; if Dean were in the mood, and had just the right amount of assholery in him, he would’ve recorded it. Instead, he chooses to brush off the urge and responds like a true adult would.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re sorry about ‘ruining’ it, Mom.” He sees her flinch slightly and takes a different approach. “What I mean is, it’s nice to see you apologetic about somethin’; it’d be nice if you were this way with Sam and me.”

“I am that way with you and Sa-” Mary stutters, realizing she doesn’t.

“Exactly as I thought. You should listen to us like you listen to Cas and Jess.” Dean brings his hand from his lap and sets it on Cas’s folded ones atop the table. He eyes his fiancé from the corner of his eye; Cas is smiling slightly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Damn, Dean’s going to have to do something about that.

“By the way, Cas and I are doing something later and tomorrow so don’t bother looking for us,” Dean mutters in haste. He just wants to get out of Amelia’s little bakery and head to where ever it is that Cas is planning on taking him to.

Apparently, so does Cas. His head snaps in Dean’s direction and that little frown he sometimes adopts is splayed upon his face. He nods his chin up ever so slightly: a warning. Dean shuts his mouth before he hedges too far into unwanted and untreadable ground; a pissed Cas is a terrifying Cas.

“But, uh, it’s nothing special...?” Dean tries, peering at Cas for his approval. Cas’s shoulders slump slightly and he gives a puny nod; it’s okay but it could’ve been better. Dean allows a grin of satisfaction to bloom on his lips. He’s almost never right with his assumptions over what Cas has got planned; he’s glad to be right every once in a while.

Mary stares at him, her brow crinkled in harsh concentration. “Cas, honey, you’re not taking my son away to do something hasty are you?” She asks, her gray eyes boring holes into Cas’s blues. He shrinks back in the seat; it’s instinctual, Dean would’ve too if Mary had looked at him like that. All he can do is entwine his hand further with Cas’s and give him a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not taking him to get hitched in Vegas, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Cas replies, his tone airtight of any other possibilities. Dean’s going to have to get him to talk when they are on the plane or whatever the hell they’re taking to where ever the hell. “It’s more of a break from all of the planning, and my edits, and Dean’s deals with bookstores.”

Mary nods, a quick and jerky little thing, and turns her attention back to Sam and Jess. “Don’t think y’all are out of the fire yet. We can see if we can change the date, but if it costs over ten thousand don’t even bother asking.” Jess rolls her eyes sarcastically and brings a hand below her chin, harrumphing in resignation. Sam just sort of quivers in his seat; he’s been a Campbell long enough to know the wrath of their mother.

* * *

* * *

And so they eat, they laugh, they argue, and they celebrate Dean’s birthday. Amelia even greets them with a large, eloquently decorated cake covered in dozens of candles, and a big ‘30’ on its top tier. Castiel watches as Dean beams; he’d never admit it to anyone, but Dean loves being treated to ‘childish’ things. It’s what prompted Castiel to purchase the special edition set of Avengers heroes action figures for his fiancé in addition to his surprise gift.

Dean blows out the candles with a whoosh, not even bothering to take a second to make a wish. “What’d you wish for, jerk?” Sam asks, a large grin plastered over his lips. Dean smirks from behind the massive cake and shoots Sam a wink. “Don’t need anything, bitch.”

Castiel’s cheeks start to hurt from the strain of sustaining such a large smile for so long. But still, he can’t bother to remove it. He’s never seen Dean this... innocent before, not really. There is a twinkle in his eyes that Castiel has only ever seen displayed upon the ignorant faces of children; Dean’s been exposed to enough shit to know that childhood dreams don’t always come true. And you’d be a stupid fucker to think so.

Regardless, the Campbell’s have a swell time at Amelia’s for brunch. For once, after all of their arguments, it’s all smiles and no stress. Not even Sam or Jess is disgruntled, although they do have some issues to work out. Mary doesn’t mention the upcoming nuptials of either of the siblings and vouches for the safer option of turning her attention to Castiel’s progress with _Natural Bodies_ and how close it is to completion.

“Have you and Dean hashed out the nasty bits yet?” Mary asks, her face slightly flushed from a bout of laughter. Castel can’t help the blush from creeping onto his face; yes, they have in more than one sense of the word _hashed out_ the nasty bits. When she notices, she breaks out into a fit of hysterical giggles. “Moron, I don’t need to know about you and Dean banging nasties.”

Castiel turns to see Dean biting his lip, holding in his laughter. He rotates back to Mary and sees that at least she had the decency to compose herself. He clears his throat and folds his hands atop the table. “So far, we’ve cleared all grammar problems and most dialect issues in characters. And, um, I’m considering beginning another story,” Castiel mutters.

He’s aware that he’s already got quite a bit on his plate. Castiel is in the midst of completing close to four books, as far as editing goes, and writing the last bits of two. If he had time, he’d be half way done with the romantic novel he always wanted to write. He just never had the inspiration; well, Meg was a start, but Dean really served as the hammer to the nail.

Mary eyes him pensively, her eyes squinting in consideration. She purses her lips before she answers. “Well, it depends on when you’ll have it finished, or even begin writing it. But, hey, do what you want. It’s not my job to tell you to write or not to write,” She mutters. Well, Castiel wasn’t expecting much more from her considering she’d probably like whatever he writes despite the genre of the story.

“That’s not to say I won’t read it, kiddo. But you’ve already got a ton on your plate. Slow it down a bit,” She finishes. Mary offers him a small smile and grabs the little cloth napkin laying beside her plate. “I’m going to head out. You all should too if your planning on going somewhere tonight.”

Mary pushes herself out of the cramped booth and stands, stretching her shoulders so they make little popping noises and she sighs at the relief. Then she picks up her purse and addresses the ‘to be Campbell’s’.

“Stop by mine sometime this week. We’ll figure out what to do about your arrangements,” She mumbles. She swipes a lock of hair behind her ear and bends down to give each of them a kiss on the cheek. Jess smiles at the table and Sam only pushes her away mumbling ‘stop, mom’. Mary turns back to Dean and Castiel and winks. “You two be careful where ever you’re going. I don’t want to fly god knows where to bust your asses out of jail.”

“We’ll be careful, jeez Mom,” Dean says, though he does move his hand Castiel’s hand to his leg, giving a little squeeze when he lands on his knee. Castiel grins back, well smirks, as he suggestively wiggles his eyebrows to his boyfriend and leans against his side. Mary only smiles and pats them both on their heads before departing.

Castiel looks back to Dean as soon as she’s out of the door. “We probably should get going too.” He glances at Sam and Jess, who have promptly continued their cuddling from where they left off like a pair of horny high school students. “Do you need us to drive you back?”

“Nah, we’re going to stay in town for a bit. I need to buy some things,” Jess answers. So, Castiel grabs his jacket from where he stuffed it behind him and hip chucks Dean out of the seat. Dean, being more gentlemanly than he usually bothers to be, offers him a hand which Castiel most graciously accepts.

“All right, then we’re heading out.” Dean nods at both of them before wrapping his hand within Castiel’s. Castiel turns back to his future siblings in law and offers them the biggest grin he can manage. “See you later.”

* * *

* * *

They arrive at the Campbell mansion within an hour and a half. Dean parks the Impala on their curb and pulls the keys out of the ignition.

“Where are we going? And don’t give me that ‘it’s a surprise’ bullshit,” Dean says, his eyes plastering Castiel to his seat. He looks, well, not angry but definitely frustrated. Castiel tentatively places a hand onto his bicep and feels Dean’s muscles relax as he sighs into Castiel’s body.

“We’re just going to Hawaii for a couple of days,” Castiel responds. Dean snuggles his way into the circle of Dean’s arms and exhales against his shoulder. “Is something bothering you?” Castiel strokes a hand up and down Dean’s back, confused at Dean’s sudden frustration but trying to abolish it nonetheless.

“Nah, not really.” Dean replies, his lips now pressing tiny kisses along Castiel’s collarbone. “Your book is pretty close to completion and the deadline’s coming up for _Natural Bodies_. Do we have any free time?” Dean mouths his way to the hollow at the base of Castiel’s neck and licks a stripe to his pulse point.

“We have free time. Two days won’t kill my book. But it’s almost fin-mmph!” Castiel attempts to answer, though before he can finish Dean’s tongue is suddenly in his mouth. He fists a hand into Castiel’s hair and draws himself up and along Castiel’s body, keeping them connected by their mouths. Castiel answers the kiss by wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle and pulling him in; he tilts his head downward to make himself more accessible.

Dean moans into his mouth and removes his fingers from the knots they made in Castiel’s hair, then slides them over Castiel’s shoulders, his chest, his stomach, and they hover just above his jeans. Castiel pulls away from Dean’s lips, gasping and awkwardly hot. “We’ll have plenty of time for this later, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess. But we’ve never really, uh, fucked in my car.” Dean retorts. He pulls back and Castiel can see the smirk in his eyes and splayed across his lips. Uh oh, Castiel knows that expression. “Dean one of us will be completely squished.”

Dean just wiggles his eyebrows and completely pulls away to cross his legs in his seat like a little boy during lessons. “I’m fine with being squished,” he mumbles, whistling as he stares ‘nonchalantly’ out the windshield. Castiel would be fine too, if it wasn’t fucking daytime when Dean’s more conservative neighbors could see them going at it like a pair of horny drunkards.

“What if your neighbors see?” Castiel asks, because he’d really rather go inside for this. Actually, he’d really rather stay in the damn car and slide in and out of Dean against the leather upholstery in the backseat. But he doesn’t want to scar any of the elderly. “Seriously, the Mills’ were pissed enough when they saw us in a tent in your yard. I don’t want to get charged with public indecency because some people don’t get the concept of minding their own business.”

Dean just shrugs and pulls on the handle for the door. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine.” He climbs out of the car and pushes the door shut. Then, in totally not-Dean fashion, he walks around the hood of the Impala and pulls open Castiel’s door. Castiel stares at him open-mouthed as he scoots himself out; that’s two times Dean has been uncharacteristically gentlemanly.

“What’s going on, Winchester?” Castiel asks, pumping as much suspicion into his tone as he can manage. Dean’s eyebrows knit together as he stares at Castiel in question. “You’re being seriously fucking nice today. Like, Sam level nice.”

Dean’s mouth quivers slightly before raucous laughter erupts from his lungs. Castiel just stands there awkwardly, not seeing the humor in his words. After a moment, Dean realizes Castiel isn’t laughing with him and swipes a hand over his eyes. “You have the same sense of humor as you did when I first met you, Cas.”

“Okay?” Castiel replies. He doesn’t really know what else to do, so he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and pulls him up the driveway and into the colossal house. Dean is stil giggling when they flop onto the couch and he turns back to Castiel.

“Hey, how much time do we have until we have to leave for our flight?” Dean glances into his eyes, those bright greens twinkling wih curiosity and something... deeper. “About two hours, why?” Castiel answers. And Dean doesn’t reply so much as tackle Castiel into the plush suede of the couch, coating his face in kisses and tugging the zipper from his jacket.

“Dean...” Castiel briefly considers pulling away; they really _do_ have time for this later, and Castiel doesn’t want to have to take two showers. “Cas...” Dean answers in return, looking up from where he was slowly mouthing down Castiel’s torso.

“Can we at least go in the bathtub or something?” Castiel asks, figuring that’s the best solution to this. Dean just smiles and stands, waiting until Castiel is beside him to pull him along as he sprints like a madman up the winding staircase. Dean pushes open the door and flicks on the light switch to the pristine washroom, and after all these months, Castiel still basks in awe at the intricacy with which the house was designed.

“Dude, it’s just the bathroom.” Dean mumbles as he turns on the faucet for the overflow tub. He turns back to Castiel and places his hands on his shoulders. “You know something?” Dean asks. Castiel shakes his head that no, he does not.

“I think I might love you, you spacey weirdo.” And Dean leans down and presses his lips against Castiel’s in the chastest kiss Castiel thinks he’s ever had. Dean pulls away after placing a light bite on Castiel’s lower lip. All Castiel can do is stare.

“Seriously, do I have something on my face?” Dean asks, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. There is a wonderful blush creeping over his cheeks and Castiel can’t help the smile that blooms on his lips.

“You know that’s the first time you told me you love me?” Castiel mumbles, staring at the ground because Dean’s not the only sappy idiot in the room. And Dean’s being incredibly quiet; Castiel realizes that he didn’t say it back, which he supposes is probably convention for people who are to be married. “I love you too, just so you know.”

And there is a whole lot of Dean in his face, soft lips moving against his, gentle fingertips pressed to his scalp. He doesn’t realize he’s moving until his back touches the wall. Castiel hums against Dean’s mouth, unbelievably satisfied with the person with whom he’s chosen to spend his life.

“Dean. Bathtub. Now,” Castiel murmurs against Dean’s lips, his hand drawing little patterns along his chest. Dean pulls away and strips off his shirt and jeans. Castiel quickly follows suit, getting to his birthday suit within seconds. He jogs over to the mostly full bathtub and steps in timidly.

Soon enough, Dean meets him and situates himself across from Castiel, their only shared point of contact being their feet. Castiel sighs and crawls through the expanse of water separating the two and settles himself into Dean’s arms. “This is nice,” he mutters, mildly disappointed with the lack of being fucked. Dean just chuckles and rubs his thumbs over Castiel’s cheekbones, then bringing his hands to his shoulders and flips him over so they’re pressed together from their chests to their hip bones.

“Dean,” Castiel mumbles, this time wriggling his hips downwards so his cock catches against Dean’s. Warm hands slide from his shoulders down his back in an agonizingly slow burn, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. They land on his ass and squeeze at his cheeks, parting his legs slightly as they push him further into Dean’s lap.

Castiel releases a moan when one of Dean’s fingers makes its way into his ass crack, and further still until it’s pressed against his hole, his entire body convulsing with the anticipation that’s radiating throughout his body. “More,” Castiel groans, grinding into Dean’s finger. He opens his eyes, just now realizing that they had been pinched shut, and glances into the nearly engulfed green of Dean’s eyes. Those beautiful eyes that he’s become so familiar with; those eyes that have become a sort of beacon for Castiel.

One of Dean’s hands, the one that isn’t teasing Castiel’s opening, wanders its way to just beneath Castiel’s chin and urges his face upward and toward Dean’s. His lips miss at first, landing on Castiel’s nose rather than his lips, and they both giggle a little like the dorks they are. But, after a moment, Castiel scoots up to kiss the smile off of Dean’s pink and slick lips, letting the rhythm break when their tongues meet.

The two lie in the tub for a few minutes, lazily making out with Castiel’s hands pinned between their chests and one of Dean’s fingers just barely breaching Castiel’s hole. When his neglected cock becomes more... in need, Castiel grinds down upon that finger, sighing when it finally pokes past that first ring of muscle. Dean jerks with something akin to surprise and breaks away from Castiel’s lips.

“Fuck, Cas we don’t even have lube,” Dean says, a worried little crease forming on his brow. Castiel just shakes his head and swivels his hips in tight little circles, trying to get Dean to just _move_. Eventually, Dean gets the hint and crooks his finger, searching for the spot he’s become so familiar with, poking and prodding for Castiel’s prostate. It takes until he adds a finger to find it, Castiel’s whole body going stiff when he does.

“Keep going, Dean.” And so he does, for which Castiel is most gracious for. He fucks into Castiel with unstopping abandon, swirling and tweaking and stirring until Castiel loosens enough for him to add a third finger. He’s writhing in Dean’s lap, directing his hips toward Dean’s cock and attempting to just get more.

“Relax, dude.” And suddenly, Castel is empty. Dean removes his hand completely and gently pushes Castiel away to get up and jog to his room for something, his erection bobbing with each step. There is a light ruckus in the room adjacent, and within a minute, Dean returns with some lube and a candle.

“Oh, you’re so romantic,” Castiel murmurs, unable to keep the sarcasm from dripping with his words. Dean’s nose scrunches as he frowns. “Shut up and scoot over,” Dean replies, and Castiel obliges him. He settles himself in the V of Castiel’s legs and coats his dick in a generous layer of lube. Then, he brings his fingers, those fingers that had left him so empty, back to Castiel’s hole and stretches him a little bit more, probably ensuring that Castiel won’t be uncomfortable.

“Would you just get in already?” Castiel grunts, shoving his ass further down those fingers. Dean smirks at him and pulls his hand out, leaving Castiel twitching and aching again. “Please, Dean.” And there goes his resolve. Castiel knows how to work his boyfriend after all of these months; he knows how to bend him to his will. This time is definitely no exception. Soon enough, Dean’s cock is nudging at Castiel’s well loosened opening and breaching past the tight rings of muscle with minimal difficulty.

Castiel moans as Dean seeps into him, sliding and sliding until their chests are pressed together. Castiel maneuvers his arms around Dean’s body to grip his ass as he slowly slides out again. They pull with Dean as he drives back into Castiel, over and over again. Eventually, the murky water washes away most of the lube and the thrusts become more and more stinging. It gets to the point that Castiel’s eyes start tearing up.

“Hey Dean?” Castiel asks, his breath hitching in time to Dean’s pushes. “Dean!” Castiel blurts when it at first doesn’t gather his boyfriend’s attention. Dean immediately pulls away and, upon seeing Castiel’s probably teary eyed face, pulls out of him as carefully as he can manage.

“Oh shit, Cas. Let’s get you out of here,” Dean stands and places his hands below Castiel’s armpits, pulling him out of the tub and holding him as he tries to find towels for the both of them. He keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders as he manages to drape a towel over his hips, even when he’s wrapping himself up.

“Stop panicking, Dean.” Castiel tries, but Dean just shakes his head and continues with finding things that he believes will bring Castiel comfort. Castiel can feel his heart racing beneath his skin and stops. He pulls himself out of Dean’s arms and grips him by the shoulders. “Stop, Dean.”

“Cas, don’t even fucking try,” Dean says, eyes plastered to the floor. No matter how much Castiel tries to get those eyes to meet his own, Dean refuses to look up. “Dean, look at me.”

And he looks. Those eyes, his personal calling card, are rimmed with red, the green shimmering with tears Castiel thought he’d never see in the strong man. Dean stares at him for a moment before turning away again. “Dean, c’mon, it doesn’t even hurt anymore. Honest,” Castiel says in attempts to relieve Dean of some of that guilt. It wasn’t his fault; simple chemistry was their downfall today. “It wasn’t something you could control.”

Yeah, he supposes he could’ve chosen better words, but Dean’s head snaps back up and his eyes bore into his. “What do you mean it ‘wasn’t something I could control’?” Dean asks, his voice speculative and careful. Castiel backtracks immediately, knowing exactly where Dean’s thought processes will lead him.

“What I mean is, water and lube don’t mix well,” Castiel mutters, trying to maneuver his way out of this conversation. “I’m fine now and that’s what matters.” Castiel looks to Dean for any signs of comfort in the words, but all he can find is something akin to sadness and fear in his eyes. He tries to comfort him again, this time bringing his hands to Dean’s face and pulling it down to meet his own. Dean accepts the kiss, luckily, and even wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist like he usually does.

“That’s better,” Castiel murmurs against the dip between his chin and his lips. He pulls away, kissing Dean’s cheek once more before freeing himself of his fiancé’s arms completely. “We should go find some clothes.” Castiel entwines his hand within Dean’s and tugs him in the direction of their bedroom, hopefully forcing his thoughts away from anything unpleasant.

He ducks into their closet and retrieves two pairs of worn out pajama bottoms and two ratty band shirts that Dean stole from his estranged father. He pulls on his set and runs back out to Dean who’s sitting nude on their bed. Castiel almost laughs at the image but composes himself enough to put on a facade of seriousness and hand his boyfriend his things.

“Do you want me to make us some cocoa before we head out?” Castiel asks, hoping that’ll make things better. Dean nods his head in affirmation and the two head downstairs. Castiel rummages through their cabinets until he finds the cocoa powder Jess had bought from some old Russian woman when she was in San Francisco. It ended up turning into a weird delicacy for them and the three had ended up making it their Friday thing.

Castiel prepares them both with a shot of Bailey’s, just to take some stress out of their minds. Dean, fortunately, has adjusted back to his normal and not totally freaked out self and has situated himself atop the counter, smiling as he watches Castiel do what he does best. Castiel finishes the drinks with a flourish, adding little tufts of whipped cream on top of each cup. He brings one over to Dean and lends him a hand as he slides off the counter.

“Do you want to watch one of your old X-Files tapes before we go?” Dean asks once he’s down, his eyes sparkling from the normalcy of their communication. Castiel grins at it, extremely happy that they are able to return to what they do so quickly. “Sure, Dean.” Castiel leads Dean into the living room, setting his mug on the coffee table before exploring the multitude of videos they have piled within the wall behind the television. After a moment of fruitless searching, Castiel finds his section of tapes and plucks out Dean’s favorite, ‘Duane Barry’. He stuffs it into the old VHS player and turns on the television set.

“We’ll only make it through about half, but it’s your favorite,” Castiel murmurs once he’s reclined against Dean’s chest. Dean’s arms wind around him and tiny puffs of air blow across Castiel’s cheek as he breathes. “The one where Scully’s kidnapped?” Dean says, his voice a quiet tremor. Castiel nods against his chin and fast forwards through all of the extra recorded bits.

And so they sit and they watch, not really paying attention to the show but rather to each other. Castiel especially fixates on Dean, hoping that he will be okay for tonight and that their birthday wasn’t ruined by something neither of them could control. Dean is probably just watching the show, but he plays with Castiel’s hands as it progresses, eventually removing them all together to brush Castiel’s hair into senseless shapes.

After about a half hour, Castiel pushes himself out of the spoon of Dean’s body and makes to turn off the television. Dean stands and stretches with a groan; Castiel hears four of his vertebrae crack before he relaxes again. He addresses Castiel with a smile when he catches him staring. 

“What now, oh captain my captain?” Dean asks, smirking from chin to hairline. When Castiel fails to laugh or whatever the fuck Dean expected him to do, his face falls slightly and he raises a brow. “Wow, Cas. I thought you’d laugh at that because, uh, y’know, you’re a writer... and it’s ‘Dead Poet Society’...” Dean trails off, his face growing redder with each passing second. 

Castiel forces a weak laugh that is rewarded with Dean’s shoulders shrugging sarcastically, and clears his throat. “Well, I suppose it’s time we get going, Mr. Winchester.” Castiel replies, painting a minute smile upon his lips. Dean returns it in full and reaches out a hand, which Castiel cordially takes.

 “Let’s hop to it, Spock.”


	11. And We're Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel arrive in Hawaii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more fluff than anything else. Now that I look over it, there needs to be a 'part two' of it; so I'll probably add one in sometime during the week that has more content and actual plot details.

The first flight out of San Francisco leaves in an hour and a half.

Castiel has been settled with his back against Dean’s legs for the past hour now, tapping away at his laptop keys doing final edits on _Natural Bodies_ with Mary. They are going well, with the minor hindrance of Mary’s adherence to the idea that Castiel must add more violence to the situation with Gabriel’s character.

He thinks violence should be kept to a minimum to a story. He feels the same way about romance. Castiel has always believed that books and stories should be about interpretation on the part of the reader; however, he also feels he should create some impetus to push the reader onto a path of any sort, whether it is identification with characters or finding some metaphor within the story. One of the reasons he hated his literature classes in university so much was the focus upon a single interpretation of text, whereas there are always infinite possibilities of what an author meant.

Still, though, Mary’s urges to add needless violence bother him. It’s not in the sense of reader’s choice, more so in the sense that that was not how it actually happened. Meg isn’t some brute; she would never stab or mutilate Castiel’s brother in the manner she’s suggesting.

Sighing, Castiel closes his laptop and reclines his head onto the top of Dean’s knees. “Your mother is really starting to piss me off about her whole ‘Meg’ hatred.” Dean’s eyes lift from Castiel’s signed copy of _The Goblet of Fire_. Castiel takes that as his cue to elaborate. “I don’t see how she could hate a character-or even a person- simply because of a misunderstanding.

“What’s she saying?”

“She wants more violence during the kidnapping-interrogation chapters. I’ve already explained to her on more than one occasion that Meg isn’t a bag of dicks. She wouldn’t hurt Gabe, even if she fucking hates him.”

Dean sets the book down on the chair beside him and lets his hands fall upon Castiel’s cheeks. His thumbs massage little circles into his temples, almost instantly taking a load off of Castiel’s shoulders. He glances into his fiancé’s eyes, glad to see the smile in them.

“It’ll be okay, Cas. You’re a genius, you’ll figure something out,” Dean leans down to Castiel’s face and presses their foreheads together in a comforting touch. “I know you will.”

Castiel can’t stop the smile from breaking out upon his lips, turning his frown ‘upside down’ as the proverbial cliché goes. Dean returns it, and closes those last few inches that separate their lips.

The kiss is swift, lasting but a second, but it’s pleasant and reassuring. An elderly couple walking by gives them a fond smile when they pull away, their hands knitting closer together when they pass. Castiel glances back into Dean’s eyes and lets a smirk fall onto his features.

“Still haven’t figured out where we are going, huh.”

“Y’know, if you weren’t paying attention, and if I felt like being a dick, I’d just go ask the agent where the plane’s headed,” Dean replies, letting something akin to irritation slip into his tone.

Castiel shifts away from Dean’s legs and stands, grabbing the book out of the chair and settling himself beside his companion. As carefully as he can muster, he places a hand onto Dean’s and gives him a warm smile. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Dean nods and lunges for the book lying in his lap, fingers grazing along his crotch and lingering for just a second before pulling away altogether. Castiel gives him a wry grin and wiggles his eyebrows in a comical fashion.

“There’ll be enough of that in a few hours, dude.”

Dean chuckles and turns his attention back to Rowling’s pages, flipping through the Golden Trio’s adventures to find where he last left off. Castiel decides to resume editing, despite how averse he is to arguing with Mary over simple matters such as what is in character and what is out of character.

His netbook lights up with a list of notifications, the majority being primarily from Mary, but several from other publishers. One firm even went so far as to double the offer Mary had given him as a starter, but reduce his royalties by nearly two percent. Castiel chuckles to himself as he types out a reply expressing just how disinterested he is in their offer.

When he finishes scanning through the remaining messages, and replying to those he deems worthwhile, he returns to checking Mary’s comments and suggestions. The vast majority of them comprise of criticisms on the distinct lack of romantic competition and the issues with the nature of the kidnappers in relation to Macy.

He replies to all of them in earnest, trying to keep a neutral stance, when his heart is screaming at him to tell her where to cram her damn opinions. When he arrives at the final one, he has to read it twice to get Mary’s meaning.

_‘I really enjoy how you’ve left Gavin alive in the edited edition. I also really enjoy how everyone meets a happy ending, more specifically how Macy gets to make off with her money and her man. I have but one qualm with the concluding chapter and one final suggestion, if you please. Since, in real life, you did meet my son, and since in real life, Meg did eventually run off, I’d like for you to add an epilogue. An epilogue in which you introduce another love interest. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the story in its form; it’s beautiful as it is. But, in most cases, relationships don’t span a lifetime. They end in messy ways, as yours did with Meg, as mine did with John, as Dean’s did with Lisa._

_Including this in your story would be excellent because not only would you be addressing a very real happening in life, but you’d also be delving into a queer protagonist. Now this is just a suggestion, and by all means you can ignore it, but I really believe this version of the story will better reflect you as a person.’_

Castiel thinks for a moment of how to reply, if he’s even going to take Mary’s suggestion in earnest because, if he’s being completely honest, that ending would serve a more controversial and realistic purpose. Yeah, his relationship did end with Meg. Yeah, pre and post that relationship, he’d been with men and men exclusively.

An epilogue will include the love of his life.

He seriously considers it. Hell, he wants to do it. But he doesn’t know if it’ll take away from the romantic dynamic between Macy and Gavin. So, in what is probably a stupid decision, he begins drafting a new ending. He begins with a man, Malcolm Bishop, who’s honest, handsome and as sarcastic as all get out.

* * *

* * *

He doesn’t realize how long he has written until he’s drawn from his trance by a frustrated Dean waving his hand in front of his eyes. Castiel jumps slightly, not expecting any interruptions despite the fact that they’re sitting in an airport, waiting to board a flight onto their honeymoon before their honeymoon.

“Cas, the announcer said flight 467 is boarding now.”

Castiel glances at the clock on his laptop. It’s almost seven o’clock; they’re going to be leaving in about twenty minutes, if all goes according to schedule. He rolls his neck, eliciting several protesting cracks from it, and stretches his arms above his head, popping the vertebrae in his back just before he sighs back into his seat.

“Then we better get going.” Castiel stands and gathers his meager collection of luggage, holding out a hand to Dean. He takes it and locks his fingers within Castiel’s, pulling their suitcase alongside him as they walk toward the long line stemming from the gate.

The gate agent gives them an adoring smile as Castiel steps up to her desk. “Hi, I’m April! How may I help you?” the small woman asks, her eyes sparkling as they flit from Dean’s face to his own.

“I just need to give you our tickets.”

The woman nods and holds out a small, slightly trembling hand. Her small wrist is adorned with charm bracelets and a collection of little birds flying towards her elbow. Briefly, Castiel has the fleeting thought that the girl would be cute, beautiful even, if she had blonde, wavy hair and a snarky southern accent. But when the hand entwined in his twitches, Castiel’s thoughts are filled with a sea of green and a sky of freckles. He nods his head slightly, inadvertently answering some unheard question the woman had.

“So honeymooners, eh?” She asks, her eyes squinted to slits by the girth of her grin. “That’s sweet. Hawaii is wonderful this time of year.”

Castiel stills at her divulgence of a trade secret. As subtly as he can manage, he shifts his gaze from the woman to Dean, noticing the little spark of excitement that made its home in his eye.

“So I’ve heard.” Castiel stares pointedly at the sleek pamphlets of paper pinched within her fingers, curious as to why she isn’t just letting them get on the fucking plane. A large hulk of a man taps his foot impatiently from somewhere behind them as he awaits his turn to board the plane.

Castiel stares down a her clasped hand as she drones on about some mundane aspect of her life, brushing over what she did with her boyfriend here, dabbling into her boredom with work there. It takes her all of two minutes to get the clue.

“Oh, here are your tickets, sirs.” She hands Castiel the tickets. “Have a nice vacation!”

Castiel shuffles through the winding artificial hallway and onto the plane, a small, rickety old thing that, frankly, he’d rather not put his life in the hands of. Regardless, he slumps to his seat in the front, checking every few steps to see if Dean’s okay with carrying their various paraphernalia.

He locates his seat quickly, it’s in the front row, and flops down into the stiff cushion, neglecting to stow his belongings as he probably should. Dean piles their things into the cabinet above them and settles himself beside Castiel, tossing a plaid blanket he’s managed to pack in Castiel’s direction.

“Here you go, sunshine.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Winchester.”

Dean’s laughter reverberates throughout Castiel’s frame. “And snide doesn’t suit you, Mr. Novak.” He tucks an arm beneath Castiel’s shoulders and pulls his head flush against Dean’s chest, wrapping him in a cocoon of cloth and his own heavy weight.

“Dean?” Castiel mumbles, already tired from the flight that hasn’t yet departed.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I’m sorry that lady spoiled the surprise,” Castiel whispers. “I should’ve told her something or left you somewhere while I got the tickets checked.”

Soft lips slide over Castiel’s temple, peppering warm kisses down his cheekbone until they finally land at the corner of his mouth. Just before they scoot that extra inch, however, Dean presses his forehead against Castiel’s.

“It’s all right, dude. You’re taking me to fucking Hawaii; why wouldn’t I be happy?”

Before Castiel can list the multitude of reasons as to why Dean wouldn’t be happy that pop into his mind, warm lips are pressed against his own, moving at a slow, steady, molasses like tempo that Castiel’s eyelids flutter shut to. He can feel himself drifting off before the kiss is even broken.

Just before he lets the warm arms of slumber overtake him, he hears a more timid goodnight from Dean.

“Sleep tight, Cas.”

* * *

* * *

Castiel is startled awake from a sudden spurt of turbulence. The warmth of Dean’s thighs beneath his head is trembling slightly. Slowly, as to not startle him, Castiel rotates so he’s facing his fiancé to see what’s wrong.

Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut; locking out anything he might see out of what appears to be fear. His hands are clenched over Castiel’s hip and the armrest, his face a grim pallor of its normal self.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel rolls so he lies on his back, Dean’s hand slipping from his waist.

“I don’t like planes,” Dean replies, his hands knotting and twirling within themselves.

Castiel pushes himself up and into his seat and gazes out the window to see the Pacific, a storm waging war above its waters. Lightning strikes the water and random intervals, hitting as close as a mile from the plane they’re riding in. It unsettles him at the very least.

“I can see why,” Castiel mumbles. He reaches out a hand to Dean and lets his fingers be squeezed by his boyfriend. It’s comforting, really, for both of them. They sit in eerie silence, waiting for the clouds to pass and the plane to land.

* * *

* * *

Luckily, by the time they arrive at Honolulu International, the storm has passed and unabashed moonlight shines from the sky. Dean has calmed down substantially, and despite his adherence to not admit anything regarding his insecurities, keeps a hand on Castiel’s all the while departing the airport.

They gather their meager belongings and hail a cab for the mile long trip to their hotel. It’s only ten, but Castiel feels exhausted; the stress of the flight coupled with the jet lag doesn’t make for a well-rested and happy persona. He lets himself slump against Dean’s shoulder when they recline against the seats in the taxi, ignoring the exasperated glances the cabbie shoots their way throughout the whole trip.

When they arrive, Castiel tips the driver a tenner, mostly because he’s too tired to bother arguing with an angry looking guy over a small issue of tip percentages. Dean carries their bags, stating only that Castiel should get his ‘lily white ass into bed before he breaks his face on the goddamned pavement’.

So he does.

Well, he doesn’t go to sleep; he takes Dean offer of being the first to their room, though. The concierge informed him that the honeymoon sweet was available, if he wanted to take it; so he affirmed and let himself be led up the wooden staircase to the top floor of the resort.

They stop before a pair of colossal, floor to ceiling length white doors with golden handles. Castiel is already astounded by the mere sight of _fucking doors_ ; the room itself… was something else.

Crown molding decorates the painted ceiling in an encompassing oceanic pattern. Waves of Poseidon’s war wage upon the plaster above him, the walls painted a melancholy hue of deep blue. The bed that resides in the center of the room is not large, but it makes up for its minimal girth in beauty. Curtains hang from the posts, surrounding it in a cocoon-like shade. Golden bed dressing rests atop the plush mattress in billows of soft, tightly sewn cotton. Castiel can barely restrain himself from sprinting to it and rolling around in the bedding until Dean shows up and joins him.

Instead, he dismisses the concierge’s assistant and shuts the door behind her.

He leaps onto the bed with an enthusiasm he’s surprised he can muster given how exhausted he feels. It’s just as soft, just as plush as he imagined it would be; the softness of the sheets brush against the roughness of Castiel’s stubble in an almost uncomfortable way, but he burrows deeper, ignoring it.

There is a light tapping at the door and Castiel stills his writhing and rolling, turning to see a very puzzled Dean walk into the room. His hair is slightly mussed from the breeze outside and his forehead is appears to be a little damp from the exertion of carrying their luggage up the stairs. Nonetheless, he walks up to where Castiel is lying upside own.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean’s arms wind down to capture Castiel’s shoulders in a soft embrace before lifting him to make some room for himself. Warm fingers skirt down his arm and capture his wrist, massaging little circles into the collection of veins and tendons collected on the inside. A soft fingertip draws little constellations into Castiel’s skin, causing a thin coating of goose bumps to form on his skin. “Do you want to get dinner?”

Castiel shakes his head, snuggling further into the soft bed and pulling Dean over him. He watches as Dean’s eyes widen in surprise, as his head tilts slightly in question. “Let’s just stay in for the night.”

Dean nods his affirmation, bending his neck to capture Castiel’s lips within his own, suckling slightly at his lower lip before pulling away. When he does, he grins at Castiel, eyes squinting and his nose crinkling with the effort.

Castiel brings his arms around Dean’s neck to rest in his hair, tugging him downwards against his body. They’re pressed together from chin to toes, lips just centimeters from brushing with each exhalation.

“’re you going to kiss me or what?” Dean smirks, his tone mischievous and his eyes twinkling. Castiel fights the urge to lean up and lick along his lower lip, instead opting to recline further into the bed.

“Or what.” Castiel removes his arms from Dean’s body entirely and tucks them beneath his head, stretching out beneath his fiancé. Dean harrumphs and slinks downward to kiss Castiel, but their noses knock together. “Nice going, klutz.”

Dean snorts and lifts himself off of Castiel’s body, reclining against the mahogany headboard and leaving his feet between Castiel’s knees. He waits for a few seconds, letting Dean have his moment. But after five minutes, the bed shakes slightly and Castiel pushes himself up onto his elbows to investigate.

And what he finds is… well, not surprising. Dean’s lifted his shirt over his head and stripped himself of his jeans, leaving only a thin pair of nearly translucent boxers covering his awakening member. Castiel smirks as he pushes himself to sitting position, breaking into a full grin when Dean lifts a brow in his direction.

“Like what you see?” he asks; his voice pensive and challenging.

“No.”

Castiel’s smirk deepens when Dean gives him a petulant pout, his lower lip fucking jutting out and everything. Sighing, he lays a hand on each of Dean’s shoulders, and draws him up and against his body, kissing the corner of his mouth as he runs his nails along Dean’s spine.

He’s rewarded a shiver from Dean, pausing his movements when Dean’s legs wrap around his waist.

“Patience is a virtue, Winchester.” Castiel extrapolates himself from Dean’s octopus like grasp, scooting backwards to rid himself of the confines of his clothing. It doesn’t take long for another pair of hands to begin working on his jeans, unzipping the zipper with a fervency normally reserved for working Castiel open.

When he finishes disrobing, he jumps into Dean’s open arms, tackling him backwards into the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. Dean’s lips are soft when he brushes them with his own; his tongue is warm as it swipes over his teeth.

He lets himself be cradled within Dean’s arms, his lips and mind occupied with more important matters than reflecting upon the fact that he’s _fucking cuddling._ The tiredness is beginning to hit him again; not so much as to make him collapse in Dean’s arms like some Kate Winslet want-to-be, but enough to make his kisses sloppier and to slow the burn of his arousal to a dull roar.

Dean, of course, notices and pulls away, tucking Castiel’s head beneath his chin as he does so. Soft kisses are peppered into his hair, lulling him further into the comforting arms of sleep. His eyelids flutter shut and his breathing grows more even with Dean’s, heart rate calming to an almost alarming tempo.

Just before the blackness encompasses him fully, Castiel hears a soft whispering from above him. “Goodnight, Cas.”

And he drifts off into the slow, rhythmic waves of an oceanic paradise; the smiling, green eyed face of his companion drifting along beside him.

“Goodnight, Dean.”


End file.
